Mildred Hubble and the Year of the Morrigan
by LisaT
Summary: Ch 7: Mildred's alone in the forest, Ethel twists the situation to suit herself, and the senior staff have a panic...
1. Chapter 1

_If you're looking suspiciously at that summary and thinking, h'mm, another Harry Potter wannabe ... well, I cannot tell a lie. This story is loosely based on HP, but with two major caveats: one, it's entirely and completely based in the WW world, with no direct HP references or characters whatsoever (spells may pop up though). Secondly, HP is very male-centric. All the main protagonists and antagonists are male, and women without exception have a supporting/nurturing/whore role (think: Hermione, McGonagall, Molly Weasley, Bellatrix...). This turns that on its head. I have strived to avoid duplicating anything in HP exactly; it is, in fact, little more than a blueprint. _

_Lastly, enjoy and don't forget to let me know what you think!_

* * *

 **One**

* * *

Mildred Hubble was not like other girls. Other girls had a proper family; Mildred had only an ancient great-aunt and uncle who never seemed to know what to do with her. Other girls liked to sleep in a proper bed in a proper (and probably pink, if Aunt Hilda was to be believed) bedroom. Mildred hated pink and was much more comfortable in her little cupboard under the stairs, the one she'd been allowed to decorate herself with glossy black paint for the moonlit sky and diamanté sparkles for the stars. And most importantly, other girls did not have a special birthmark on their foreheads, one that if you looked _just-so_ exactly resembled a pointy witch's hat.

Aunt Hilda hated the birthmark. She was ashamed of it. Mildred knew this because Aunt Hilda made her grow her fringe long and heavy, so that all traces of the offending purple mark were rendered invisible. Deep inside, small Mildred had liked that mark. She recognised it as a badge of some sort, but of what or whom she could not think-but as the years went by Aunt Hilda's shame made her ashamed too, and by the time she turned eleven she was so used to the fringe that she barely gave it or the mark it hid a thought.

Until everything changed.

First there were the dreams—terrifying dreams that woke Mildred screaming night after night. When Aunt Hilda tried to ask what happened, what frightened her so badly, she looked so ill and shook so terribly that Aunt Hilda gave up. Uncle John suggested bringing Mildred to a shrink but Aunt Hilda shrank (no pun intended) from that; their niece, she insisted firmly, was not crazy. Uncle John subsided as he usually did when his wife spoke in that tone, and Mildred was left to struggle with her night terrors alone. Oddly, they were worse in the hideous pink-princessy monstrosity of a bedroom that Aunt Hilda had created—and as a result, Mildred increasingly chose to sleep in her private little haven under the stairs, much to her aunt's disgust.

Then there was the day they visited the zoo. Mildred hated the zoo; all her life she'd loved animals—any animals—and the sight of them caged and penned made her ache inside. Uncle John and Aunt Hilda never understood this. To them the zoo was a nice day out, an opportunity to gawk at exotic and dangerous creatures from all corners of the globe and perhaps (if the weather was kind) indulge themselves in an old-fashioned English picnic. The weather rarely was kind but Hilda always insisted anyway, and year after year found them crushed together under a tree, with rivulets of water running down their faces and their sandwiches turning to mushy gloop in their hands. On reflection, Mildred decided she hated those soppy picnics as much as the zoo.

And this year, she was determined not to go. She wasn't a little kid any more; if she really insisted on not going they couldn't force her, could they?

Force, it turned out, was one thing. Guilt was something else.

'But _why?_ ' Aunt Hilda gasped when Mildred tried to explain. 'You love animals, honey.'

'Not in there, I don't,' Mildred told her, drawing herself up to her full height. She was tall for her age and Aunt Hilda was tiny. 'Animals shouldn't be banged up, like—like a _circus!_ '

'God love us, we've got a tree-hugger on our hands,' Uncle John muttered while Mildred bit into her lip.

Aunt Hilda placed a timid hand on her arm. 'Just give us this year, honey,' she murmured in her deceptively soft voice (Aunt Hilda looked like a sweet little old lady, but she had a will of steel). 'Soon you'll be all grown up and you'll be off doing your own thing.'

Mildred gave in, as she always did. How could she not? She owed them everything, as they never tired of reminding her.

So off to the zoo they went. They had weak coffee in the cafe and wandered round the poorly stocked shop. Then they visited the butterfly house which was the one bit Mildred never minded. The butterfly house was like a different world, a shimmering magical world that seemed straight out of the pages of a storybook. After that was the inevitably soppy picnic and Mildred's mood soured. She knew what came next: the cats.

'Lions and tigers and bears, oh my!' her uncle teased (as he did every year, with a tug of one of her long braids). 'Be good or we'll throw _you_ to the lions, l'il Mil.'

As had become her habit, Mildred ignored him, stalking into the walkways that would lead them around and over the big cats' enclosure. It was the work of moments to 'lose' her elderly and easily confused great aunt and uncle, and before long, Mildred was where she wanted to be: face to face with a lonely Scottish wildcat. Once upon a time the cat had snarled at her and tried to attack her through the glass, but now ... now it was almost as if he _recognised_ her, coming to slither along the barrier between them like a hungry house cat pleading for his dinner.

The sadness in his eyes broke Mildred's heart. It wasn't as if he was a tiger or lion and came from far away; even Mildred accepted that you couldn't have lions and tigers strolling through central London. Scottish wildcats, though ... Scotland was only over the border; the poor thing was so homesick, why _shouldn't_ he go home? As she thought it she put her hands on the glass barrier ... and then ... the barrier was gone! Dissolved into thin air! And the cat was gone too, vanishing with slinky grace while Mildred stared drop-jawed after him and the other visitors screamed blue murder.

 _That_ got them thrown out of the zoo once and for all. Nothing could be proved (all the semi-hysterical visitors had been able to say was that Mildred touched the glass before it disappeared and the CCTV cameras backed them up) but the managers of the zoo had banned her, Aunt Hilda and Uncle John on general principles. Mildred was scared and yet somehow exhilarated ... she didn't know exactly _what_ had happened but she'd felt the tingle run through her fingers just before the glass vanished. It was almost like ... like _magic_.

In comparison to what came next the incident at the zoo was almost fun. Something that Mildred was half convinced she'd imagined because _honestly_ , how could anyone just make glass _disappear?_ What came next was not fun. It was not in the _least_ bit fun—and for those who watched Mildred from afar (without her knowledge or that of her aunt and uncle) it was the final straw. When all was said and done, there were _limits_.

It all kicked off one night towards the end of Mildred's first (and as it would turn out, last) year at the local comprehensive. Until the bell rang for the end of school it had been a good day; her art teacher had praised her work, she'd only tripped over her shoelaces three times, and she'd actually managed _not_ to break any test tubes during Science. Her teacher was caustically grateful for that last but Mildred only grinned; by the time Christmas rolled round she'd learned that Mr Treasure's bark was infinitely worse than his bite. Somehow, though, in the midst of all that she'd managed to tick off her classmates more than usual—and this time she paid the price.

There was nothing new in that. Mildred had always been a target, thanks to her height and the distinctive purple birthmark. In addition, there was a quality of difference—a difference the other children could not neither understand nor define, but which roused their collective hackles. From the age of seven on, Mildred learned to watch and wait before making her way home; she learned the safe routes and dangerous ones with the same wary care as any hunted animal. Aunt Hilda often wondered why she never had friends, and suggested if Mildred would only come out of her cupboard and stop messing around with her paints, all would be well. Mildred knew that was not true. The safest place for her—the _only_ safe place, it sometimes seemed—was her cupboard.

On this particular afternoon she thought she'd done all the right things. She waited in the library until most of the other kids had gone. She stuck by the main roads as much as she could; even the hardiest of bullies, she knew, were less likely to attack in the open. Then there was only one narrow lane to pass through and she'd be home—but this time, this time …that was where the gang pounced, surrounding her with a human cage. Worse, they were armed with sticks big and small, their eyes glittering with feral glee. Mildred did not scream. There was no point.

They pressed closer, tighter, and her chest constricted.

'What … what do you want?' she quavered.

'Freak,' a boy hissed. She recognised him from her Maths class. He'd always seemed so quiet and polite there … even _nice_. 'And freaks … don't deserve to live.'

'Especially not when they're freaky witches!' another boy yelled. He grabbed Mildred's long braids with one hand, cruelly jerking her head back. 'Look, she's got a frickin' freaky witchy tattoo!' His free hand pushed back her fringe to reveal her birthmark in all its purple glory.

Mildred was crying by this time, more terrified than she'd ever been, even in her dreams.

'Please … please, leave me alone!'

Her pleas were futile. Indeed, they only seemed to fan the flames.

'We should drown her! That's what they used to do to witches!'

Maths Boy grinned. 'Where?'

Braid Grabber pointed through the trees. 'There, there's a pond—'

Bloodlust and excitement overcoming compassion and simple common sense, the gang cheered and pushed Mildred, still trapped at their centre, towards it. She started to struggle, using her long legs and arms to kick out at her tormentors. They laughed and pressed ever tighter, so tight that she could feel their bodies against hers.

'Please, I can't swim!' Panic was making it hard to breathe and the air seemed thin, but maybe the boy from her Maths class … She tried to catch his eye but he only smirked.

'Wicked. If you drown that'll be one less…' His voice echoed through her skull as the same tingling feeling from the zoo rushed through her entire body. Vaguely she was aware of yelling and squealing, of the tightness around her easing—and then whiteness came and she sank gratefully into its embrace.

When she next opened her eyes the sun had set. She was alone—and Mildred had always been afraid of the dark.

 _It's not_ really _dark_ , she told herself, turning painfully to lie on her back, the abused muscles in her neck protesting every movement. _The moon's so bright and the stars_ … They reminded her of her dreams, of flying straight and true above the treetops, shadows in the moonlit sky.

 _Baby dreams,_ Mildred thought with a sadness beyond her eleven years, and curled into a tight ball to weep until there were no more tears to shed. Something had changed tonight, she could feel it in the very air she breathed, in the rhythm of the blood pumping through her veins. Something had changed and nothing would be the same again.

* * *

'It's time, Constance,' Amelia Cackle announced to her deputy one morning as she looked over the latest communication from the High Council. 'Mildred Hubble has had her magical break-out—and _what_ a break-out it was.'

'Hmmm,' Constance responded, sending her employer a dark look across the office they both shared. It was really too small for two but somehow they made it work.

'Is that all you've got to say?' Amelia seated herself behind her desk, frowning as the movement caused a haphazard heap of papers to drift lazily off it. 'Darn and blast.'

'What do you want me to say?' Constance rose and swooped with enviably easy grace to recover the fallen papers, replacing them neatly in a pile. 'It sounds like those _boys_ deserved everything she gave them.' She paused to shuffle the papers more precisely. 'We always knew this day would come.'

Amelia studied her over the top of her horn-rimmed glasses. 'Be honest. You hoped it would not.'

The younger woman stiffened. 'What I _hoped_ is irrelevant, Headmistress.' She lifted the High Council's letter and scowled at it. 'The events of eleven years ago left _that_ in little doubt, and in any case, Mildred has been down for Cackle's since ... since her conception, I should think.'

'Or very nearly,' Amelia agreed with a sigh as she remembered Mildred's mother, a lovely girl and remarkably talented witch who'd once been Constance Hardbroom's best friend.

'Assuming the child was _girl_ , of course,' Constance was saying, heedless of Amelia's sorrow. 'That was just like Ermen. She always assumed that whatever she wanted would fall into her lap. _Ergo_ , if she wanted a daughter, a daughter she would have.'

'Until she ran afoul of the Morrigan,' Amelia pointed out quietly and Constance flinched. 'Constance, my dear—'

'Don't, Amelia.' The younger woman's voice was strained. 'I—I _can't_. You know why.'

'I know you were angry and hurting, a furious child,' Amelia said to her deputy's stiff back. 'You've paid for your sins. No-one can ask any more.'

' _I_ can.' Constance whirled to face Amelia and the older woman had to stifle a gasp at the pain written so clearly across those usually impassive features. 'What I did ... and to _Ermen_ —'

'Now's your chance to make amends,' Amelia told her. 'Mildred is Ermen's daughter. She's a complete innocent, and yet she's already suffered so much. She probably doesn't even know she's a witch. You're the first year's form mistress, that means—'

'Amelia, you wouldn't!'

'It is your job, my dear. You said it yourself, you always knew this day would come.'

'That doesn't make it easier,' Constance choked, turning away from Amelia once more and moving towards her favoured spot by the window; a slim, upright and seemingly indomitable figure—and yet so broken.

'I know.' Amelia crossed the room to stand next to Constance; her hand hovered momentarily before she gently placed it on her former pupil's back. 'This wound has bled long enough. It's time for you to find healing and I believe—I honestly do—that you will not find it until you reach out to Mildred.'

'And tell her _what?_ ' Constance snapped, her body thrumming with tension beneath Amelia's fingers. 'That I'm sorry that she's had to grow up outside our world? That it's my fault she's an orphan? That I could have saved her mother at least if it wasn't for my stubborn pride?'

Amelia shook her head. 'I'm not asking for the impossible, child. She will learn what happened—how could she not?—but it doesn't have to be from you. In fact, I'd rather it wasn't. All I want from you is that you teach her to the absolute best of your considerable ability because you know ... we _both_ know ... what might be coming.'

Constance turned at that. 'You believe it then? The rumours?'

'I don't know if I'd go that far, but I'm not stupid enough to ignore them.'

'No.' Constance tensed anew beneath Amelia's touch, but this was not tightly corded pain; this was a warrior preparing herself for battle. 'Very well. I will train Mildred Hubble to be the best witch she can possibly be—but don't ask me to love her, Amelia. You can't ask me to do that!'

'I can't and I won't,' Amelia agreed gravely. 'Love needs to be freely given or it isn't love at all. I know you know that and I've an idea our Miss Hubble will know it too.'

'Thank you.' Constance's perfectly straight shoulders relaxed a fraction. 'And the letter? Has it been sent? The others—'

Amelia smiled. 'I'm not sending a letter—or not by post, at any rate. I'm sending Imogen. She can deliver the official letter and bring Mildred back with her.' Sudden tears veiled her eyes and she blinked them away. 'We're getting Mildred back, Constance. She's coming home.'

Constance's lips compressed for a long moment before she said, 'Send Imogen to collect Maud Moonshine first.' Amelia could not hide her surprise and Constance must have noticed, for her lips twitched. 'From what I remember, Maud Moonshine is a good little witch.'

 _A rare compliment indeed,_ Amelia thought, amused, but Constance was still speaking.

'More the point, she's a friendly child. It's—it's always easier to start in a new place with a friend, and heaven knows Mildred will need it, especially after that _episode_.' She nodded towards the letter and her Headmistress brushed her black-clad arm with a commending fingertip.

'That's a good idea, my dear.' Amelia returned to her desk and dismissed the letter from the High Council with a flick that sent it into the flames. 'A _very_ good idea. And now, shall we summon Imogen and tell her the news?'

Taking the hint, Constance snapped her fingers and their gym mistress materialised, a ball suspended mid-air before her and her pretty face creased by a ferocious scowl.

'You know, Connie, this is getting bloody tiresome. Just because—'

Before Amelia could protest, Constance silenced her with a wave.

'Let me remind you, _once again_ , that my name is Constance—but you may still call me Miss Hardbroom.'

Constance's voice was so icy it sent shivers down Amelia's spine and she repressed a sigh. Constance and Imogen had been at daggers drawn since their schooldays, when Constance was a prefect and Imogen a particularly annoying first year. Then Imogen lost her magic...

She shuddered at the memory of those dark days. The Time of the Morrigan ...

'We need you, Imogen,' Amelia said before the old hostilities could resume. She opened her top drawer and pulled out a letter waiting there—waiting for eleven long years. 'Mildred Hubble is ready to come to Cackle's—and we want _you_ to be the one to fetch her.'

* * *

Mildred sat in silence in her customary spot between her equally silent aunt and uncle at the breakfast table. Meals were always silent now … had been silent since the day after the attack when Maths Boy's parents came round shrieking about unnatural children needing to be locked up. Aunt Hilda and Uncle John were horrified (Maths Boy's mum was possessed of a particularly shrill voice and they knew without a doubt that the entire street and probably part of the next had heard _everything_ ) and simply refused to entertain any explanation Mildred could provide. Even the bruises and the revived nightmares—now full blown screaming fits—could not persuade them otherwise.

'Pass the tea, if you would,' Aunt Hilda said with exquisite politeness and Mildred obeyed, her tongue protruding as she concentrated on not spilling a single drop.

'And the milk,' Uncle John added and she complied. Her hand shook as she tried to pour and a stream of white trailed down the side of his black mug. He ignored it, his gaze fixed resolutely on the mushy heap of Weetabix at the centre of his bowl.

Mildred's throat tightened and she clasped her hands in her lap, willing them to stop shaking. If only they'd shout. Or scold. Or even look exasperated at her clumsiness. At least then she'd know they cared.

 _Freaks don't deserve to live_ , played in her mind. _They used to drown witches_ … Perhaps Uncle John and Aunt Hilda would have preferred it if she'd drowned.

She allowed her head to fall forward, hiding her expression before it betrayed her. She was about to excuse herself and retire to the cupboard when the doorbell went, and her head snapped up.

Aunt Hilda and Uncle looked at each other.

'Who's that?' the former demanded, clasping her napkin to her mouth.

'I'll get rid of 'em,' Uncle John promised, rising. Mildred trailed after him into the hall, her native curiosity coming forth for the first time since the ambush.

There was a blue shadow behind the frosted glass that framed the door. Mildred crept closer. The bell rang a second time and Uncle John grumbled and opened it.

'Listen, we don't want anything to do with them Jehovah's Witnesses—'

'I'm not with Jehovah's Witnesses,' the woman in blue cut in. She had a nice voice, Mildred decided. 'I'm here about your niece, Mildred Hubble.'

Mildred started and one booted foot jerked out to kick the cupboard door. Uncle John turned, glaring, and she instinctively shrank back but it was too late. The lady in blue had spotted her.

'Are you Mildred?' she asked, smiling so sweetly up at Uncle John that he gaped and moved to allow her entry. 'I'm Miss Drill. I've come for you.'

' _Come_ for her?' Aunt Hilda echoed. Her tiny figure seemed to expand. 'Why? Who are you? Listen, I don't care what she's done, them boys had it coming. She's a good girl, our Mildred, she is—'

'I've come to bring her to school,' Miss Drill interrupted gently and Mildred's stare swivelled from her newly protective great-aunt. 'She really isn't in any trouble, Mrs Bland.'

' _School?_ ' Uncle John was scowling. 'She's already at school. Goes to the local comp.'

'This is a … a boarding school,' Miss Drill said. 'Mildred's name was put down for it before she was born.'

There was a pause as Hilda and John digested this.

'Like Eton?' Hilda breathed.

Miss Drill's eyes sparkled. 'Exactly like Eton,' she agreed gravely. 'Here's the letter from our headmistress as proof.'

'We can't afford no fees—' Uncle John blustered, but Miss Drill was shaking her head.

'They're already paid, sir. In full.' Mildred's eyes widened. 'All we require from you is your signature allowing us to take the child right away. She's a lot to learn!' For the first time, Miss Drill directed the full force of her bright smile at Mildred and it triggered an answering spark within the girl for the first time since that hellish night at the end of last term.

She caught her aunt's arm. 'Oh, please let me go, Aunt Hilda. _Please_. I'll do my best, I'll work ever so hard—'

'You won't have much choice,' Miss Drill said, a slight edge to her voice that Mildred did not yet understand.

'I'll get my qualifications, I'll be able to support myself—'

'Certainly you will!' Miss Drill agreed. 'Cackle's Academy is a … very _good_ school, Mr and Mrs Bland. Very uh, prestigious. Um, _rarefied_.'

But as Mildred looked into the faces of her aunt and uncle she knew the battle was already won. She was leaving! She was going to school!


	2. Chapter 2

**Two**

* * *

Excitement fuelled Mildred through packing (such as it was) and farewells, but once she was safely belted up in Miss Drill's old-fashioned runabout and they were about to be on their way a shyness that was almost paralytic descended.

Not that the other girl in the car seemed to care.

She'd joined Mildred in back without allowing the other girl to say yay or nay and checked her seatbelt with a short nod that made her curly pigtails bounce around her head.

'Ready, girls?' Miss Drill called.

'Ready!' the other girl agreed with an exuberant bounce that was echoed by the pigtails. They seemed to have a life of their own, Mildred thought.

Once the car had left Box Close behind, Mildred found herself staring. Her new companion was short and stocky, with glasses framing wide blue eyes and a generous dusting of freckles across her nose. That wasn't the odd thing, though; it was the birthmark on the other girl's arm, just above her wrist. A purple birthmark just like Mildred's, in the shape of a pointy witch's hat.

'I'm Maud, by the way,' the pig-tailed one said, and Mildred's cheeks flamed when she realised she'd been caught staring. But Maud didn't seem to mind; she caressed the birthmark with a forefinger and directed another of those blinding grins at Mildred. 'Where's yours? The Mark?'

Mildred blinked, one hand going involuntarily to her forehead. 'Mark?'

'Yeah, we all have it,' Maud went on chummily. 'The Witchmark.'

'Witch?' Mildred's head spun. The boys were right, after all ... 'There's no such thing as witches.'

'Course there is. That's why we're going to Cackle's. Hungry?'

Startled at this change of pace, Mildred managed a nod. She _was_ hungry; it'd been impossible to eat with her aunt and uncle given the atmosphere.

Maud grinned. 'Me too. For chocolate.' She leaned in to whisper, 'They say the food in Cackle's is _terrible_.'

'I heard that, Miss Moonshine!' Miss Drill called and Mildred cringed, but Maud was not noticeably discomfited.

'It's true though, isn't it? Miss Drill, my auntie Matilda says she was in the same year as you and—'

'OK, OK, just keep your stories to yourself, Maud Moonshine,' Miss Drill interrupted. 'And I'll turn a blind eye to whatever you're doing back there. Just you remember it won't do you any good; you'll still be starving when we arrive.'

'What does she mean?' Mildred whispered.

'Magical food is ... junk food,' Maud said. 'Which is just as well, 'cos I'm gonna...' And she closed her first two fingers and thumb together, causing them to sparkle ... and when the sparkles died Mildred's eyes nearly fell out of her head, for in the space between them there was the most humongous box of sweets she'd ever seen.

'D'you want any, miss?' Maud called.

'No thanks, Maud. I draw the line at junk food, even magical junk food.'

'Excellent,' Maud whispered. 'More for us. Dig in!'

Mildred didn't need to be told twice. She 'dug in' with fervour and her shyness vanished naturally in the process of hoking through the box for sweets she thought she'd like.

'What else do you know about Cackle's?' she murmured under cover of the newly switched on radio. 'I don't know anything.'

Maud's eyes turned rounder than ever. 'Not a single thing?' and Mildred gravely shook her head. 'Wow, that's ... but you're Mildred Hubble!'

Confused, Mildred nodded.

'Your mum was only, like, one of the most powerful witches in her year, and your dad wasn't far behind!'

'My dad was a _witch?_ ' Mildred was incredulous.

'Wizard,' Maud corrected through a mouthful of toffee that Mildred had already discovered was every bit as sticky as the non-magical variety. 'He went to Cackle's sister school—or should that be "brother"?—up there.' She pointed to the mountains in the opposite direction to where they were driving. 'That's Hellibore's, only they call it "Helliboring"—or that's what my brother says.'

'Oh.' Mildred was literally incapable of saying anything else. All she knew about her parents was that they'd died in a tragic car accident. Aunt Hilda and Uncle John had always refused to discuss the matter, and Mildred was only dimly aware of what her parents had looked like, thanks to an old and blurry photograph taken shortly after her birth.

'Did you really not know any of this?'

Mildred shook her head and Maud's round face fell.

'That's awful. I can't imagine— _oh_.' She pushed her sliding glasses up her nose and her other hand shot out to grab Mildred's wrist. 'Does that mean you don't know anything about HB?'

Mildred's mouth was too full of toffee to answer, but her popping eyes spoke for her and Maud sighed.

' _Honestly_.' She sent a wary look towards Miss Drill before leaning in. 'Miss Hardbroom. She's Deputy Head at Cackle's and my cousin says she's _always_ the first year's form mistress. She says the idea is to scare us silly when we start so we don't cause trouble later.' Maud munched thoughtfully for a moment. 'Can't see it's made much difference to Edie. Anyway, Auntie Matilda says HB wasn't always so scary, when she was a prefect she was strict but ... nice- _ish_. Your mum and HB were like, best mates, so close that everyone talked about them like they were one person, you know? But when _She_ came everything changed and HB went bad, they say. She—'

'That's enough chatter, Maud!' Miss Drill put in. Maud rolled her eyes and mouthed 'typical' at Mildred, but Miss Drill was still talking. 'We've still got a while to go and there's the robing ceremony at midnight. I suggest the two of you settle down and have a nap. Wouldn't want to drop off later, would we?'

'No, Miss Drill,' the girls parroted obediently before snuggling down. Maud conjured pillows with a simple flick of her fingers and Mildred had to force herself not to gape.

 _I'm a witch as well,_ she reminded herself once soft snores starting drifting from the other side of the car. _One day I'll be able to do all this stuff too._

But as she closed her eyes and willed sleep to come, one question remained: What had _really_ happened to her parents? And what role had Miss Hardbroom played?

* * *

It lacked but an hour to midnight and all the girls had arrived for the new term, some (most) flying themselves via broomstick and others coming by car or train. Once upon a time it was traditional for new girls to win their place at Cackle's by proving they could get a broom up and over the walls of Castle Overblow itself, but the war that ended eleven years before had put a stop to the practice, and it was never renewed.

Constance, standing at the staff room window watching the arrivals greet each other in the torch-lit courtyard below, knew that her refusal to push for the reinstatement of the tradition puzzled her colleagues, but the very thought of it made her uneasy. After all, it was she who had advised Amelia that allowing the girls to catapult (in some cases literally) themselves over the walls constituted nothing more or less than a full-blown magical assault on the academy's protective wards and should thus be discouraged forthwith. Still traumatised by the war, the Headmistress was only too eager to agree—and if anyone argued, both Head and Deputy Head could point to the fact that not one pupil had died in the years since the inauguration of the new rule. Sadly, such tragedies were all too common before, even without the death and destruction spread by the Morrigan.

The peace of the staffroom was disrupted by the cupboard doors flying open and a little lady with frizzy grey hair skewered with a conducting baton exploding out of it.

'Is it time yet? Is it time?'

Constance whirled to face her so quickly that her unbound hair flew around her like a cloak. 'There is a clock on the wall, Davina. You can read it as well as I can; does it _look_ like the witching hour to you?'

The little lady vibrated like one of her beloved musical instruments. 'But Constance, there isn't a clock in the cupboard!'

'Oddly enough. As it's a _stationery_ cupboard,' Constance responded drily, and Imogen Drill sent her a reproachful look.

'Never mind her, Davina.' She patted the empty seat beside her. 'You're just excited because it's a new year. A whole lot of new girls—'

'Including Mildred Hubble,' the Herbology mistress observed, her round face creasing in a kind smile. 'I wonder how she'll get on.'

'H'mmm.' It took all the self-control Constance could muster to avoid stiffening at the name. She summoned a smile; as Amelia never tired of reminding her, Herbology was closely related to Potions and it would benefit them all if the Potions mistress and the Herbology teacher could stay on good terms. Constance had no quarrel with that on principle, but the truth was she found the endlessly cheery Mistress Comfrey wearing on the best of days.

'I'm sure she'll be fine,' she heard Imogen say, with the hitched inflection that indicated a swallowed yawn. 'She's a nice kid. Seemed to hit it off with Maudie Moonshine too.'

Unseen by her colleagues, Constance's lips twitched but she spoke with her customary sternness. 'Let's hope our newest Miss Moonshine isn't as prone to trailing chaos in her wake as her relatives.'

'You would say that,' Lavinia Crotchet, the junior chanting mistress, chuckled. 'Still haven't recovered from Edith's destruction of the potions lab three years ago?'

'It was a comprehensive destruction that required a lot of time, money and magical energy to put right,' Constance said, turning to glare at the older woman.

'You worry too much, Con,' Imogen said airily and Constance's jaw tightened. As always the woman was deliberately provocative. 'Maudie's not Edie. Tilly says she's a much more cautious child by nature; I'm sure your beloved Potions lab is safe!'

'Oh, _Matilda_ —' Constance sneered while Lavinia said, 'Unless Mildred Hubble proves to be a blunderbuss'—and the thought deprived the Deputy Headmistress of breath as she drowned under a wave of memory.

Ermen, laughing through their years at school, her bright hair an eternal beacon for her darker, warier friend. Ermen quietly putting Constance's mistakes right before Miss Broomhead noticed, because Constance was growing too fast and it made her clumsy. The supportive squeeze of her hand as they went up to the dais side-by-side to receive the cloaks that proclaimed them fully professed witches. The glow on Ermen's face as she announced first her marriage and then her pregnancy; her insistence that Constance, her oldest and most beloved friend, should be the child's godmother. And the last memories, the ones that haunted her nightmares: Ermen, incandescent as she channelled power that was not hers to use—and spreadeagled across the snow in a horrible travesty of a snow-angel, her hair a red-gold halo, dead at Constance's hand.

 _Ermen was many things, but she was_ never _a blunderbuss!_ old love and loyalty made her want to scream at the innocent and unknowing Lavinia. _How could her daughter be?_ But she did not; as she'd done so many times over the years, Constance inclined her head in tacit acknowledgement (but not agreement) and summoned her hat. A glance at the clock showed her it was now after half eleven; soon the girls would be coming down and the staff would need to be in the Great Hall to greet them.

'Miss Cackle will be with us shortly; I suggest we move this to the Great Hall and check everything's in readiness. Ephedra, did you get the uniforms?'

'I did,' Lavinia volunteered before the Herbology mistress could answer. 'Ephie was away, so Amelia said—' but Constance cut her off with a wave, suddenly weary.

'Never mind, so long as it's done. And the cats?'

'Right here, Constance,' Amelia herself said, entering the room whilst waving a large hamper in front of her. Constance moved to help lower it safely to the floor. 'Actually, we may have a slight problem there—'

Constance glanced up from undoing the buckles that kept the lid in place. 'Not enough kittens?'

'Not enough _black_ kittens,' the Headmistress corrected with a smile as Constance flung the lid back. She reached in to caress the tiny tabby kit's head with a gentle finger. 'And I think I know _just_ the girl to take charge of this special little misfit, don't you?'

* * *

Mildred had to remind herself to breathe as Maud towed her into the Great Hall at Cackle's Academy. She felt as if she hadn't taken a proper breath all day; the increasingly incredible things she'd seen kept knocking it out of her!

First, there was Maud's own small displays of magic, which Mildred were impressive enough. Then there was the first sight of Castle Overblow, the ancient building that had been Cackle Academy's home for nearly three centuries. Mildred had always dreamed of living in a castle (not a pinky princessy castle, but a proper grey witchy one like Castle Overblow) and now it was going to happen! As if that wasn't enough, she'd found herself staring drop-jawed at the girls flying in, poised on their broomsticks with such perfect grace. And the cats! They just sat on the broomstick brushes as if that was a perfectly natural thing for cat to do! ('It is,' Maud had pointed out. 'If you're a _witch's_ cat.')

And then there was Miss Hardbroom. Mildred chose not to attempt to define the Deputy Headmistress just yet; there was something about the terrifyingly tall, grimfaced woman who'd greeted them on their arrival that struck her as indefinable.

Miss Cackle, on the other hand ... Mildred loved her at first sight, just as she'd done with Maud. The Headmistress met her with a grandmotherly hug, her whispered, 'Welcome home at last, Mildred,' bringing unexpected tears to her new pupil's eyes. Mildred had buried her nose in Miss Cackle's shapeless woollen cardigan, savouring the rare feeling of being cherished and protected, until Miss Hardbroom urged her to get on.

'Time to settle down, girls,' that lady said now, breaking into Mildred's reverie. 'The robing ceremony is about to begin. First years, you are to sit at the front. Fenella Feverfew, make sure of it, will you?'

'That's the head of the second years,' Maud murmured as Fenella directed an older blonde girl to lead them to their places. 'Edie says that she and Griselda Blackwood are like, the school geniuses. Even HB likes them.'

 _I wonder if she'll like_ me? Mildred wondered anxiously as she took her allocated seat. _You'd think she would if she was my mum's best friend—_

 _Do you really want her to, if she_ did _go bad?_ another part of her argued. _She looks dead scary. She looks like she could kill. Maybe—_

'All right, girls, settle down,' Miss Hardbroom ordered, her resonant voice cutting through Mildred's thoughts once again. 'I can assure you, I won't ask it again. That _does_ include you, Edith Moonshine!'

Taking the hint, the girls quietened, all eyes turning towards the dais at the front. Mildred's eyes went round as she took it in; the great Cackle's crest hanging suspended above, the ornately carved lecturn in the centre, with the teachers flanking it at both sides. They too looked incredible. Garbed in black robes and crowned with their pointed hats, they looked tall and imposing, even the round little witch at the far left of the lecturn. Their hair lay unbound on their shoulders, thrown into sharp relief by the coloured lining of the hood on each cloak.

'Green for Potions and Herbology and sciencey stuff,' Maud whispered into Mildred's ear. 'Gold for Spells and Charms and History of Magic, that's what Miss Cackle's wearing. Runes, too. Chanting and Arts is pink. Natural Magic and sporty stuff, that's blue. That's what Miss Drill should be—'

' _Shhh!_ ' a sharp-nosed girl on Maud's other side hissed. 'Shut up or you'll get us _all_ off to a bad start.'

Maud grimaced and obeyed as the little witch at the piano started playing and they had to stand for the school song. The tune sounded like school hymns everywhere, Mildred decided, but the words certainly weren't, sending a chill finger running down her spine as she heard:

 _Onwards, ever striving onwards_

 _Proudly on our brooms we fly_

 _Straight and true above the treetops_

 _Shadows on the moonlit sky._

Miss Cackle processed slowly up the centre aisle, looking unwontedly impressive in her robes of black and gold, bearing not a broomstick but a staff of office; it too was gold, gleaming in the candlelight like a living thing.

She reached the lecturn and clasped it, beaming over it in a fashion that transformed her from that remote figure of a moment ago into the kindly woman who'd welcomed Mildred so tenderly a short while before.

'Well, here we are! It's the start of a new year for all of us, but it's the start of a new life for new first years, and I'm sure they're very excited for what lies ahead. But first ... The robing.'

She leaned forward over the lecturn, almost seeming to go on tippy-toes so that she could smile at the youngest girls in front of her.

'You're all wearing the basics of our uniform,' she went on. 'Our lovely traditional gym slips and shirts, but you're not properly dressed— _or_ pupils of Cackle's—until you're given your ties, cloaks, broomsticks, hats and—last but by no means least, your cats.'

'And it is at _that_ moment that you become trainee witches,' Miss Hardbroom added, coming to stand beside the Headmistress. 'From then on, you are no longer children. You are witches in training and you are bound, as we all are, by the Witches' Code. It is a grave responsibility and not one to be undertaken lightly.'

'Yes, Miss Hardbroom,' the school murmured as one and Miss Cackle looked at them over the top of her glasses.

'It's late and I'm sure you're tired, so let's move on, shall we? First years, get into line. Drusilla Paddock, isn't it?' A redheaded girl several rows in front of Mildred nodded. 'You're first, dear, and Mildred Hubble, you're bringing up the rear. Now, stand!'

Perhaps Miss Cackle was right and everyone was tired, or perhaps it was just that they were intimidated at being so directly under Miss Hardbroom's stern eye. Whatever the reason, the first years got themselves sorted out and in line in record time, and the Headmistress was able to nod at her deputy.

'Miss Hardbroom, if you would.'

'Thank you, Headmistress.' Miss Hardbroom stretched out a hand and snapped her fingers; a stool materialised in front of her, whilst to one side a mistress with a pink hood was standing with a pile of black in her arms. Near her stood a positive tower of hats, each carefully inserted into the other ( _Like ice cream cones!_ Mildred thought)—and then there was a hamper. A hamper that seemed to be making noises.

'Drusilla Paddock!' Miss Hardbroom called and while Drusilla was being robed Mildred took advantage of the mistress's distraction to whisper, 'What's in the basket?' to Maud.

Her friend smiled, her eyes sparkling. 'Why, Millie, it's our cats, of course!'

'We get _cats?_ ' Once again, Mildred thought there just didn't seem to be enough oxygen in the air today.

'Of course we do. Where'd you think the others got them, earlier?'

'From home,' Mildred answered numbly, her eyes fixed longingly on the front where Miss Cackle was gently lowering an adorably sooty kitten with huge green eyes into Drusilla's waiting hands.

'It's _tradition_ ,' Maud explained as they shuffled forward. 'Even witches' cats need training, and where better to train them than here, at Cackle's?'

Unsurprisingly, Mildred had no answer to that. Her entire attention was fixed on the front to where girl after girl was robed, hatted, and given one of those gorgeous kittens for her very own. Her spirits soared; she'd always wanted a cat but Aunt Hilda would never hear of it.

'Nasty creepy things,' she'd say with a shake of her head. 'Especially them black ones.'

But Mildred had never begged for a black one. Oh, she loved them, of course, but she'd never dreamed anyone would give her something so lovely as a shiny, sleekly black cat. And now here she was!

'Mildred _Hubble_ ,' Miss Hardbroom announced as Maud brushed past on her way back to her own seat, a black kitten cuddled close. 'What are you standing gawping for, girl? Come!'

Trembling from a stomach-churning mixture of fear and excitement, Mildred obeyed. Miss Hardbroom's hand on her shoulder encouraged her onto the stool; Mildred was startled to find that her touch was warm through the thin fabric of her school shirt. HB seemed so icy that she wouldn't have been surprised to the find the woman was literally made of ice.

 _But she was Mum's best friend,_ she thought, half-disbelieving as Miss Hardbroom carefully draped her cloak around her, lowered her hat on her head, and handed her her broomstick. The latter was purely ceremonial in purpose and taken away again as soon as Mildred rose in response to a sharp tap on her shoulder.

'Just one thing left to do, Mildred,' Miss Cackle said, smiling her gentlest smile. 'Now, there's something I need to tell you,' she went on, putting an arm around Mildred's shoulders and drawing the girl aside. 'Something very important.' She paused and Mildred's heart thumped painfully in her chest; was the Headmistress about to say that they were mistaken? That Mildred couldn't have a cat? That she couldn't stay and become a witch?

'Yes, Miss Cackle?' she prompted when the older woman hesitated.

For answer, Miss Cackle lifted a hand and stroked a flyaway tendril of hair behind Mildred's ear. 'You lived so long away from our world, my dear. I think you understand better than anyone else here what it's like to be the outsider. To be different. And that is why I have chosen you for our last kitten. This little one was the runt of the litter. He isn't very big,' Miss Cackle went on, drawing Mildred closer to the hamper from which a single solitary cry now sounded. 'I don't think he's very brave, he hasn't tried to get out. He isn't even black—'

'He's _tabby!_ ' Mildred breathed as she looked into the hamper and saw the minuscule kitten cowering within. 'Oh, _look_ at him. Oh, Miss Cackle, is he really mine?'

Miss Cackle's eyes were very bright behind her glasses. She crouched to lift the kitten, but instead of waiting as the other girls had done, Mildred knelt beside her. She heard Miss Hardbroom sniff in disapproval behind her, but just then she didn't care. The only thing that mattered was giving the frightened kitten waiting alone in that hamper the reassurance he so obviously craved. She put a hand into the hamper and ran a finger down the kitten's black spine.

'Can I—?'

'Of course you can, dear. He's yours!'

Mildred extended her fingers underneath the tiny soft striped body and lifted him carefully until she was able to tuck the kitten into the safety of her cloak. Even then she could feel him shake.

'Poor kitty, he's so scared—'

'You'll have to help him get over that,' Miss Hardbroom observed as she helped Miss Cackle upright. 'A witch's cat must be _absolutely_ fearless.' Her eyes bored into Mildred and the girl lifted her chin.

'He'll do it. He will, and so will I, you'll see!'

There was an indrawn breath from the rest of the school and even Miss Cackle sent her deputy a wary sideways glance.

But Miss Hardbroom seemed oddly amused. 'See that you do, Mildred Hubble. Just see that you do.' She indicated the other first years. 'Go.'

Realising that in this case discretion was unquestionably the better part of valour, Mildred obeyed. When they were dismissed at last, Mildred Hubble and her tabby kitten went to bed, happier than they'd ever been.

* * *

 **TBC.**

 **These first two chapters were written in two days, thanks muchly to the incomparable Em for being the unwitting inspiration! ;) I love this idea, I really do, and I'm excited by it and hope that if you've got this far you're excited too. BUT ... a bit of feedback goes a long way and will keep me on track, especially over the next weeks as work piles up once again. In the meantime, I'm hoping to get at least one more chapter out this week!**


	3. Chapter 3

_Thanks a million to_ _ **ZeIncomparableEm**_ _and_ _ **TheWorstTwitch**_ _._

 _ **TheWorstTwitch** : This one is based around the 1998 series, with reference to the books and possibly the current series if it throws up new ideas/info about the characters. Also, I was reading TWW long before HP was released ('97, wasn't it?) so I do know TWW came first. My aim here is simply to take some of the ideas from HP (although as several people have pointed out, few of those ideas are truly original to JKR) and throw them at TWW and see what emerges. _

_I hope you enjoy! Lots of HB coming up..._

* * *

 **Three**

* * *

'Now, girls, it's your turn. Remember to measure out your ingredients _carefully_. Potions is not something to be messed with; if you do not exercise caution you could cause serious harm. Mildred Hubble, _what_ have I just said?!'

Constance did not feel remotely guilty when the pupil in question jumped violently, a scared look coming to her eyes. Not even when the aforesaid jump resulted in her knocking over her empty vial and smashing it into smithereens. Exasperated beyond words that Mildred was once again staring out the window instead of concentrating on the lesson, Miss Hardbroom crossed to the bench shared by Mildred and Maud and favoured the pair with her most evil glare; the one that school tradition claimed as proof that she was actually a transmogrified basilisk. Not that Constance herself paid attention to such nonsense, of course.

' _Well?!_ ' she demanded, looming threateningly over the first years and allowing the answering silence to linger painfully. 'You don't _know_. Because yet again, Mildred Hubble, you have not been paying _attention!_ When will you realise that this is not like your last school? Not paying attention in Maths is lamentable. Not paying attention in Potions could get you—or most probably someone else— _killed!_ '

'That's not fair, Miss Hardbroom!' Maud's shrillness sent a hot stab through Constance's already aching head. 'Millie's not used to being a witch yet. You have to cut her some slack!'

'Oh, _do_ I. Well, I'm sorry to tell you, Maud Moonshine, I don't have to do anything of the sort. And to prove it, you've just won yourself a detention. _Tonight_. Five hundred lines of "I must not stick my nose in where it is not wanted"—and not another _word_ or I'll double it.'

 _At least the Moonshine girl isn't stupid_ , Constance thought acerbically as Maud subsided, her eyes shooting poisoned daggers from behind her glasses. Her teacher ignored it; she was long since used to such glances, and while it was not true that they no longer held the power to hurt (she doubted anyone ever _truly_ got used to being hated) she had learned to let them slip by, acknowledged but not absorbed.

After a final circulatory walk around the benches, Constance returned to her own desk. She could keep an eye on the class from there, and (admonitory lecture aside) there was very little that could genuinely go wrong with a laughter potion. Still, it was a good idea to get the girls trained in safe habits. She settled herself with a sigh and rubbed at the tightness in her forehead; honestly, she could swear she'd had more headaches since becoming Mildred Hubble's form mistress than in the whole of last year!

 _Don't exaggerate, Constance,_ Amelia's voice said in her head and she grimaced. It was all very well for Amelia to spoil the child and treat her like a long-lost granddaughter; she didn't have to be in her constant company, her very presence rubbing salt in a still-open wound. It wasn't that Mildred particularly resembled Ermen, it was just … Now and then Mildred would move her hands or turn her head in a certain way, or her eyes would sparkle in a manner that recalled her mother—and Constance would find herself thrown back in time, imprisoned once more by grief and guilt.

 _If I ever left_ , she admitted to herself now, watching as Mildred concentrating on adding a few drops of lemon balm to her potion, her tongue protruding while Maud hovered nearby, already her shadow as Constance had been Ermen's.

Their friendship had started here, in this very room, when their Potions mistress chose to punish Constance after the latter had accidentally broken three vials in a row. Mistress Broomhead had ordered her to remove her boots and stockings and stand on the shards of glass for the rest of that double lesson. A containment spell kept her in squarely within the radius of the shattered vials; every twitch she made simply resulted in the fine shavings being worked deeper and deeper into the sensitive soles of her feet. By the time the bell went Constance was standing in a pool of blood, tears streaming down her cheeks. Mistress Broomhead showed not a smidegon of concern; she simply dismissed the containment spell with a sharp flick of the finger and vanished. It was Ermen who helped Constance to a chair—the only girl brave enough to stay in the face of Broomhead's wrath—and Ermen who removed as much of the glass as she could before performing a healing spell.

More than twenty five years later and Constance still cringed at the memory of that day, shrouded as it was in humiliation and pain; she and Ermen had never spoken of it again. There was no point. Miss Cackle was away taking care of a sick aunt and Miss Bat—dear and sweet as she might be—was an incompetent temporary Headmistress at best. Even then Constance and Ermen had known their Chanting mistress was no match for Broomhead.

 _Precision in all things, that's the key to success!_

An involuntary shiver ran through her. That was Broomhead's mantra, both then and years later when Constance—to her unmitigated horror—found herself under her once more at Witch Training College. By then Constance was well on the way to becoming a powerful witch in her own right, her strengths different but complementary to Ermen's, but the scars from that incident in Cackle's potions laboratory went both sole and soul deep. The young woman Constance became was incapable of rebelling against authority in any way, shape or form. Even when she discovered, entirely by chance, that Mistress Broomhead was a ringleader in a cult that believed that magical mediocrity in whatever form should be weeded out without mercy; in their eyes, such a failure merited only death.

A burst of giggles roused her from her memories and she glanced up. Most of the class had apparently succeeded in making their first potion and were laughing, giggling or chortling as it took them. Only Maud and Mildred remained comparatively sober and Constance repressed another sigh, her feet bringing her once more to their bench.

'Well?' she prompted, something in her twisting when she saw how they quailed at her approach. 'Your potion hasn't worked then, has it.' She carefully refrained from adding, _you've failed_.

'I can't imagine why, Miss Hardbroom,' Maud said earnestly, eyes like blue saucers. 'We did everything you said. _Honest_ , miss.' A statement which Mildred endorsed with a single definite nod.

'H'mm.' The mistress's experienced gaze roved the bench, seeking some clue. The children hadn't failed; as far as she could see their potion had worked to a point. They just hadn't _finished_ it. She restrained herself from rubbing that sore spot between her brows before reaching for their worksheet. 'And did it occur to either of you to … turn the page?' She did so herself, emphasising the additional instructions with a sharp tap that sent scalding colour up the young faces before her.

'Sorry, Miss Hardbroom,' Mildred offered, sending Constance a timid look through her lashes that struck the older woman to the heart. 'Can—can we try again?'

' _May_ we, Mildred,' Constance corrected, but granted the request with a nod. 'I'm going to check on everyone else. You have until I'm finished.'

'Thanks, miss,' the pair chorused and Constance left them to it, hoping her relief did not show too obviously as she hurried in her stately way to check on Ethel Hallow and Drusilla Paddock. Their work was exemplary and as Constance checked potion after potion and found them exactly as they should be, her mood improved. Even Mildred and Maud managed to complete theirs with five minutes to spare, and Constance brought the lesson to a close.

'That was a good start, girls,' she commended, ignoring the exchanged glances of surprise. 'Keep on like that and I'm sure we'll get on very well indeed. The bell's going to go at any moment and I suggest that you consider your lunch choices _very carefully_.'

('What lunch choices?' she heard someone mutter, but deemed it wise to ignore it. There was no point in ruining her mood.)

A tentative hand went up and Constance tried not to sigh again. It was _that girl_. 'Yes, Mildred?'

'What are we doing, miss?' The brown eyes facing hers were anxious. 'It's just, if we're going somewhere couldn't you tell us now? Because I get _frightfully_ travel sick—'

'The only place _you're_ going, Mildred Hubble, is _up and away_ ,' Constance told her with a smirk. Ethel and Drusilla tittered and the mistress's humour vanished. Contrary to general belief, she did not enjoy sycophancy.

But Mildred was staring in frank bewilderment. Constance was about to speak when Ethel beat her to it, dripping condescension as only a Hallow could.

'Some people are so _ignorant_ ,' she said with an exaggerated eye-roll. She turned to Mildred. 'It's our first flying lesson, you stupid freak.' The bell rang as she ended and Ethel was away before Constance could reprimand her.

When Constance departed for her own lunch she carried the memory of Mildred's recoil at Ethel's words, her pinched white face, and—worst of all—the look of hurt betrayal she'd sent her form-mistress as she left the room, an indignant Maud trailing in her wake.

* * *

Mildred stood quietly amidst her excited form as they gathered in the courtyard, ready for their first flying lesson, and cowered against the stone walls in an attempt to disappear. It was futile; she was still head and shoulders above everyone else, and in any case, Maud would not allow her to fade into the back.

'Are you excited, Millie?' she asked, beaming up at friend. She was clutching her own broom in a businesslike manner, while Mildred's was leaning lackadaisically against the wall and in imminent danger of falling over. 'Miss Drill's supposed to be really good. Aunt Tilly says she was testing for the flying squad before …' Her voice dropped. 'You know, before she lost her magic.'

Mildred frowned, remembering Maud's reference to this on their drive to Cackle's. She was about to ask for more when a murmur from the others made her look up. Miss Hardbroom was flying in on her own broom, dressed in full regalia and looking uncannily like the Wicked Witch of the West from _The Wizard of Oz_.

She gulped, wanting nothing more just then than to be safely in her cupboard at Aunt Hilda's.

Maud tugged her cloak. 'You've got to watch, Mil! Aunt Tilly says that Drill was the _fastest_ flyer—but HB was the _best_.' Privately, Mildred was starting to get tired of Aunt Tilly. Blithely unaware, Maud continued. 'Look how gently she's coming down, just a like a bird … I mean, did you even _see_ her feet touch the ground? Every time _I_ land I roll straight off.'

 _That_ jerked Mildred's attention back to her. 'You can fly already?'

'Course I can!' Maud squeezed her arm. 'I'm not a nasty snob like Ethel, but the Moonshines are old. Like, _dead_ old. We're not swanky rich but I've been flying since I learned to walk.'

By this time Mildred was starting to regret her lunch. She was miserably certain she would make a fool of herself and vindicate Ethel's 'stupid freak' comment of earlier. Even Miss Cackle wouldn't keep a witch who couldn't fly. And Miss Hardbroom—

' _Quiet_ , girls,' the lady herself ordered at that point. Mildred contemplated sinking to the ground for better invisibility, but Ethel chose that moment to turn and hiss, 'Get ready to fall on your face, freak.'

'Miss Hardbroom, I can take over from here,' Miss Drill interrupted, running lightly across the cobbles towards them. 'I'm sure you're very busy.'

Miss Hardbroom eyed her askance. 'Not at all. I've timetabled this—'

'Really, it's quite all right,' Miss Drill insisted with forced grin and narrowed eyes. 'I'll manage.'

The first years instinctively clustered together like a threatened flock when their form mistress drew herself up to her full height. 'Miss Drill, must I remind you that preparing for the Basic Broomstick Apitude Test is an important part of our assessment procedures for new girls. As Deputy Head—'

' _I'm_ the Games mistress here, Constance,' the first years heard Miss Drill say through that clown-like smile. 'I know I'm not good for much these days, but I _can_ still do this.'

Miss Hardbroom looked down her long nose at the shorter woman. 'And what if there is an accident? Some of these girls are novices.' She did not look at Mildred, but Mildred felt her words as a barb all the same. She started creeping along the wall with the idea of slipping into the castle through the double doors.

She was forestalled by Ethel saying loudly, 'Where are you going, Mildred?' and froze, turning slowly just as Miss Hardbroom said, 'Yes, Mildred. Where _are_ you going? Come to the front where I can see you, please.'

Fairly trapped, Mildred had no choice but to obey. Miss Hardbroom tutted. 'Honestly, girl, can't you take a bit of pride in yourself? _Look_ at you! Your hat is about to fall off. Your bootlaces are undone and your _hair_ —did you even put a comb through it this morning?'

Feeling as thoroughly beaten as that day in the woods, Mildred murmured, 'No, Miss Hardbroom' before panicking and adding, 'Yes, Miss Hardbroom' on general principles.

Her form mistress gave her a long look before deciding to move on, much to Mildred's relief. 'Miss Drill, if you would.' She gestured with exaggerated grace.

'Before you can start training with your kittens you need to be safe flyers yourselves, girls—so let's go back to basics! It's very simple,' Miss Drill went on, holding her own broom and ordering it to hover. It obeyed (although with a noticeable lack of height) and Mildred's eyes went wide. If Miss Drill could do that with very little magic, then perhaps she—? But the Games mistress was still talking.

'You sit on it.' Miss Drill's mouth twisted. 'Miss Hardbroom, perhaps you could demonstrate.'

'Of _course_ , Miss Drill. You sit gracefully, girls,' she added, doing so herself. 'Note the sidesaddle position, one foot neatly behind the other. It's not just how it looks; it's about balance, too.'

Miss Drill folded her arms. Mildred thought she looked as if she wanted to cry and her heart went out to her.

'And?' the Games mistress prompted. Miss Hardbroom gave a slight nod and continued.

'Broomsticks are magical objects, like our hats, but they have _no_ power of their own. They channel _ours_ and it can take a while for a broomstick and its owner to …'

'Bond?' Miss Drill suggested.

'An imperfect comparison but it will do. A sharp tap, like _so_ , and tell it up and away!' Miss Hardbroom suited the action to the words and her broomstick lifted several metres higher. She flew with enviable ease around the courtyard and brought to her broom down to a carefully measured and elegant stop. 'Now you try.'

'Spread yourselves out, give yourself space to work,' Miss Drill cautioned and the girls obeyed.

Mildred found herself once again contemplating the double doors, but Maud distracted her by making her command 'hover' until her broom could reliably do that at least. Getting the confidence to dispose her long legs and arms in the fashion Miss Hardbroom had decreed was something else, and Maud was in the process of literally moving Mildred's limbs into place when Miss Hardbroom called the class together.

Predictably, Ethel was the first to be called upon to show her prowess. Also predictably, she was commended for it and it was Drusilla's turn. She too did well and girl after girl was able to successfully demonstrate a working _hover_ , _up and away_ , and achieve at least two metres of liftoff. Miss Hardbroom was less satisfied with their positions but Miss Drill did not allow her to linger, putting the class through their paces at a cracking rate.

Eventually, the mistresses turned their joint stare on Mildred. Maud pushed her forward.

'Go on, Millie. You can do it, you just have to believe in yourself!'

Shaking so violently that her knees were literally knocking together, Mildred ordered her broom to hover and sat on it as best she could. Miss Hardbroom clicked her teeth and instructed her to carry on.

Mildred took a deep breath and tapped the broom sharply. 'Up and away!' The broom shot off at low level and flew with unerring accuracy into the bins, where its owner was dumped ignominiously amongst the kitchen scrappings.

Bruised literally and metaphorically, Mildred scrambled to her feet, hoping that was it. No such luck. Her brows drawn together in a straight black line, Miss Hardbroom ordered her to try again.

The second attempt was marginally better, in that at least this time Mildred achieved the best part of two metres of height. However, when Miss Hardbroom told her to control the broom, everything fell apart once more and she found herself dumped painfully on the roof of the broom shed.

'Come _on_ , Mildred, we haven't got all day,' her form mistress called and Mildred tried to obey, she really did. She crawled forward as quickly as her trembling body would allow—but when she reached the roof's edge she froze, her stomach seeming to leap from its proper place to her throat and back.

'What is _wrong_ with you, girl?' Miss Hardbroom demanded, materialising beside the broom shed in the fashion that made Mildred's tummy flip without fail every time. _This_ time it was too much and she was sick over the roof's edge. Thankfully, as Maud would remind her later, _not_ over Miss Hardbroom.

That lady sighed noisily. 'I think that's enough for one day.'

Mildred could only nod in weary agreement as Miss Hardbroom helped her down with a firm hand. To her dismay, Miss Drill objected.

'I don't think that's wise. She needs to get straight back on if she's ever going to fly.'

'Miss Drill—'

'It's _my_ decision when they're ready for BBAT, Miss Hardbroom. And in my opinion Mildred is nowhere near it.'

Miss Hardbroom had an arm around Mildred; not from kindness, the latter was sure, but simply because Mildred was still shaking so badly she doubted she could stand without the mistress's support.

She felt Miss Hardbroom begin to withdraw and for a moment contemplated the insane action of throwing herself into the older woman's arms. Had it been Miss Cackle, she would have.

'Remember what I said,' Miss Hardbroom told her in a low tone. 'Confidence and control, that's the thing. You _do_ have the power, Mildred, you would not still be here if you did not. Cackle's is not a charity. Now you must channel it and _make_ that broom do as it's told!'

Mildred nodded, taking her broom in a firm grip. The rest of the class went quiet, all eyes fixed on her.

'Hover,' she ordered, and the broom did. She managed to seat herself reasonably securely, albeit not in a perfect sidesaddle position.

'Go!' Miss Drill commanded and Mildred took a deep breath and expelled it with an 'Up and away!' that carried as much force as she could muster.

The broom obeyed, rather more literally than was intended. In other words, it shot straight up until Mildred found herself above not only the courtyard—itself a terrifying prospect for someone who was afraid of heights—but above the very turrets of Castle Overblow. Instinct alone made her fix her eyes on the flags that fluttered on the breeze; she _knew_ that if she looked down on the little black figures below she would fall.

'C-confidence a-and c-control,' she sobbed under her breath and managed a wild swing. The aim was to bring to broom lower, but instead it seemed to develop a life of its own, swooping around the turrets at a speed that made Mildred scream.

Her grip on the broom was not as secure as it might have been; her hands were slick with sweat and her back ached from the awkward and unaccustomed sidesaddle position. Increasingly desperate, Mildred tried throwing her weight forward to see if that would prompt the broom to head back to the courtyard.

Once again it worked—but too well. The broom streaked towards the courtyard, towards one of the towers at full speed. One moment Mildred was high above; the next the castle walls were frighteningly near and she was coming in too fast. She could hear someone yelling instructions but they made no sense, all she could think was _I'm dead I'm dead I'm dead I'm dead_. The sight of Mistress Comfrey's horrified face through the staffroom window seemed to agree and Mildred squeezed her eyes shut in terrified anticipation— and stopped.

Millimetres from disaster, her broom just _stopped_.

One moment Mildred was convinced death was inevitable. The next, she began to float gently (and safely) downwards.

'Nearly there now, Mildred,' she heard Miss Drill call. 'See if you can bring her down nicely. You've got this far; you can do it.'

The words sent a surge of warmth and strength through the trembling girl. Drill was _right_. She'd been terrified and absolutely clueless, but she'd managed to hang on. She'd _survived_. After what she'd just been through, landing should be a piece of cake.

And by now Mildred really, _really_ wanted to get off.

Her lips pressed together in an almost Hardbroom-like line, she very gently pointed the broom downwards, hardly daring to breathe. The broom obediently started sinking and she allowed the air out in a slow breath, her death-like grip easing.

And the thing shot off _again_ , this time homing like a bullet shot at point-blank range towards the patch of courtyard where Miss Drill and Miss Hardbroom stood. Realising that this time there would be no reprieve—she was already too close; she could see the dawning horror on the mistresses' faces—she hunched down on her broom, her eyes once again slammed shut.

 _Collision_.

Yells.

A horrid, _horrid_ sinking feeling, as if everything inside was draining through the soles of her feet.

 _Fade to black_.

* * *

 **TBC**

 **Whew. That was nearly 4000 words. If you've got this far a review would be lovely!**

 **(Shameless, I know—but it does result in more!)**

 **Next Time: Constance gets suspicious**


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks muchly for the lovely reviews! Mwah! Keep 'em coming, that's the important thing.**

 **Liane** : _Well, once a Chalet School author... ;) Besides, that's very HBish too, don't you think?_

 **Guest** : _Thank you! I hope you enjoy this bit!_

 **Guest** : _I'll always have a certain amount with the girls. Partly because this IS a school story set in term time and they're thus inescapable! But also because Mildred's story is very central to this, even if it's secondary to HB's._

 **Phantomlistener** : _Aww, thanks. Always lovely to hear when people enjoy your stuff. Hope this bit pleases you too._

 **ZeOneAndOnlyIncomparableEm** : _The first part was written just for you. It better suit!_

* * *

 **Four**

* * *

'Don't even think about it,' Amelia warned when Constance impatiently tried to bat her away. 'You've taken a nasty blow to the head—'

'—and that's _all_ it is, Headmistress, so _please_ , let me get up ... _oh_.' As she spoke, Constance attempted to stand and her knees buckled. Amelia caught her before she hit the ground and prodded her back into the armchair.

'That'll teach you,' she scolded, planting fisted hands on plump hips and glaring at her deputy over the top of her horn-rimmed glasses. 'You are not infallible, Constance. Believe it or not, a severe knock on the head will affect you just as it would anyone else.'

Thwarted, Constance allowed her abused cranium to sink against the deeply padded back of the chair—only to wince as her (by now seemingly inebriated) bun got in the way. Once again, it was the Headmistress to the rescue.

'Let's make you more comfortable.' She came forward to pluck the long industrial-strength pins from Constance's hair, freeing the tightly wound braid from its constraints. Constance let out an involuntary sigh of relief as the tension on her painful scalp eased, and Amelia gave her shoulder a gentle pat.

'There now, isn't that better?' She settled herself in the chair opposite. 'You may as well take it all out, Constance, it'll have to be done again anyway—and I want to get a closer look at that bump of yours.'

'Oh, but—' Constance protested and Amelia held up a hand, gently inflexible as only she could be, and the younger woman conceded, running her fingers through the long plait until it lay in wavy dark lengths around her.

Then the Headmistress insisted on feeling for the bump she seemed certain would be the result of Mildred's collision with her form mistress earlier. Constance mentally sniffed but knew better than to do so openly; without her own swift reflexes she knew perfectly well that the incident could have been more serious and Amelia's concern was perfectly justified.

As it was, Miss Drill had escaped largely unscathed, Constance had sustained the head-blow Amelia was fussing over (never to mention bruises on other parts of her anatomy that she flatly refused to mention, even to her employer and friend), and they hoped that Mildred's injuries would heal without a trip to the local hospital. The first year had fared the worst of the three and was now lying comfortably in the little room off the kitchens that served as an infirmary of sorts.

'It's not as bad as I feared,' Amelia announced, several uncomfortable moments later. Amelia took her duties as the staff's primary first aider seriously. 'However, this should help.'

Constance looked in horror at the proffered packet of frozen peas. ' _Amelia!_ '

'What?' The older woman pulled her cardigan tighter , her mouth puckering in the defensive purse her deputy knew so well. 'I know it's not traditional but we do have a freezer now, Constance. We must keep up with the times and we can't expect Mrs Tapioca to work without electricity. And, um, Maud tells me that this is a very popular solution to injuries like yours … outside.'

'In the _non-magical_ world,' Constance grumbled, holding the packet to the sore spot and finding it unexpectedly soothing. 'Although how a _Moonshine_ knows that—'

'Her mother's family aren't magical,' Amelia explained, fishing out a rolled bandage that made Constance eye her askance. 'And Maud's like a little magpie; she picks up bits and pieces all over the place.'

'She's nosy, you mean.'

'Hmm.' Amelia studied her over the top of her glasses. 'You must be feeling better if you're criticising the girls.'

'Well, _really_ , Miss Cackle—' but Amelia was shaking her grey head.

'Don't you "Miss Cackle" me, Constance Hardbroom. I know you too well. And I know that you are perfectly capable of dealing with this injury yourself. You came to me for a reason; what was it?'

Between pain, shock, her own insomniac tendencies and the sickening anxiety that had blossomed in the aftermath of the collision with Mildred and her runaway broomstick, Constance was more worn out than she cared to admit. Amelia's gentle question unlocked the accumulated tension and her entire body seemed to sag in the armchair, her eyes drifting closed.

'When you're ready, Constance,' Amelia urged, and the younger woman sighed.

'I know, I'm just …' Her eyes popped open. She wanted to see her employer's reaction in full. 'I don't think that … escapade of Mildred's was entirely her fault.'

'Well, of course it wasn't! Poor child, she shouldn't be condemned for never sitting on a broom before!'

Constance shifted, wincing as her head throbbed. 'That's not what I'm getting at, Amelia. I mean it quite literally; whatever happened with that broom … it was _not_ Mildred's fault. This was deliberately orchestrated to cause maximum harm—'

'—and _would_ have, if you hadn't been there,' Amelia cut in with an appreciative pat, but Constance ignored her.

'… and also, seemingly, to get Mildred into trouble. I noticed the broom seemed to take on a life of its own every time the child was about to master it. It—it was like a horse testing its rider.'

'Horse?' Amelia echoed blankly and Constance shook her head impatiently.

' _Forget_ the horse, it was just an example. The point is, a broom hasn't got a brain of its own. As I told the girls, it doesn't have _magic_ of its own. _Mildred_ certainly wasn't responsible for her broom's gyrations; even I could see she could barely sit on it, let alone pull off such a trick.'

'If it wasn't for the magical power required I'd put money on Ethel Hallow,' Amelia said, frowning. 'She's taken quite a dislike to Mildred and she's a catty little piece, I fear. And _that's_ an insult to cats!'

'Still, Ethel could not do this. No first year could. I doubt that even Fenella and Griselda, working together, could achieve it. No, Miss Cackle. This was the work of an adult, fully trained witch or wizard.'

'Someone within the castle?' Amelia whispered, as though suddenly afraid to be overheard. 'But Constance, who could it be? Surely you don't think it's one of the staff!'

Constance privately agreed; with the possible exception of Amelia she considered the rest of the staff to be so much dead weight and as incapable as Mildred herself of perpetrating this particular stunt. Before she could express this—more or less diplomatically—Amelia was pulling her cardigan tighter and leaning forwards, her glasses perilously close to falling off the end of her nose.

'Here's another question,' she said, still in that near-whisper. The sharp afternoon light highlighted every line on her face, turning her suddenly old. 'Assuming you're right and this was deliberate, who was the intended target? Mildred? You? Or _both?_ '

* * *

Mildred was lying in bed in the sick room, her covers pulled up over her head—or as pulled as she could manage, with one injured wrist. Miss Cackle had frowned horribly over it and eventually pronounced it badly sprained ... but there was possibility of a hairline fracture, she said, and she wanted Miss Hardbroom to look at it to see if a potion was necessary. _When_ she recovered, of course, the Headmistress had added with a meaning look, and Mildred had burst into tears.

She wasn't crying now. She didn't think she had more to shed—and besides, tears wouldn't change anything. She would still be lying here with a wonky, incredibly painful wrist, her form mistress would still have concussion, and someone was still out to kill her. Of that last she was absolutely certain. The more she thought about it, the more convinced she became; her broom had not simply _acted_ as if it had a mind of its own—it _did_ have a mind of its own. Someone _else's_. It sounded impossible but after a week at Cackle's, Mildred had become accustomed to impossible things.

'Millie? Millie, are you awake?' came from behind her in the softest of murmurs, and she turned slowly to peer at Maud.

'How are you feeling?' her friend asked, letting herself into the little room and closing the door behind her. 'There's all sorts of rumours going round.'

'I bet they're wishing I'd died,' Mildred said with a mournfulness that might have been comical under other circumstances.

' _Well_...' Maud approached, her manner confidential. 'It's funny you should say that. Me and Ruby and Jadu, we were talking. We think someone is trying to hurt you. Because, you're _Mildred Hubble!_ '

Mildred eyed her sceptically.'What's so great about being Mildred Hubble?' She patted the bed and Maud curled up, mumbling appreciatively about cosy blankets and non-lumpy mattresses until Mildred cleared her throat and the other girl took the hint.

'I _told_ you. Your mum was one of the best witches of her year.' Maud's glance was furtive as she leaned forward to hiss, 'I don't want HB to hear but ... maybe even the best! And not just that, but she's a _hero_. She saved all of us. Without her, we wouldn't be here now. Cackle's, our world, it wouldn't exist! It'd be like ... like ... concentration camps!'

Mildred blinked. 'You know about those?' For some reason she'd thought witches didn't learn history the same way as everyone else. Or at least, not the _same_ history.

'Hitler was evil to _everyone_ ,' Maud said with an air that made her resemble a pig-tailed owl. 'But what non-magical people don't know is that _we_ had another war of our own. Only no-one realised it was a war until it was almost too late. It wasn't fought in fields or planes, it was fought in schools and classrooms and courtyards like ours. But people still disappeared and people still died. Families were split up ... even my mum and dad,' she went on. 'I was just a baby and they took my dad away and when he came back, when it was all over ... he wasn't the same. My mum ...' Maud shook her head. 'She never got over it. That's why Aunt Tilly lives with us.'

Thoroughly chilled despite the relative warmth of the sickroom, Mildred pulled her covers to her chin as well as she could with one hand.

'What did my mum do?' she asked very quietly.

'No-one knows for sure. She went to the High Council one day ... and she never came out, not alive. But the bad stuff, it stopped.'

'How do you know it was her?'

'Well, the only other person we know was in the High Council that day was HB. I can't see her saving us, can you?! She prob'ly supported the other side anyway, they were all about sticking to the old ways and raising standards and we know HB's nuts about those.'

Under her covers, Mildred began to shake. 'That can't be right. Miss Cackle wouldn't let her teach here if that was true.'

'Maybe Miss Cackle doesn't know.'

Mildred shook her head. 'I don't believe it. You said she was my mum's best friend.'

'They could've rowed and it turned her to the other side.' Maud's eyes were huge, nearly as round as her spectacles. 'It happens, and it happened a lot then. Imagine, Aunt Tilly's best friend at school was Ethel's aunt. I mean, a Moonshine and a _Hallow!_ '

'It's just a name,' Mildred protested. 'Ethel's horrid because she's Ethel, not because she's a Hallow.'

'Believe me, Millie, she's horrid 'cos she's a Hallow,' Maud insisted with an emphatic nod that set her pig tails to swinging. 'The Hallows have never liked us 'cos we're poor.'

'Maybe it was Ethel today,' Mildred suggested, relieved at the chance to turn the conversation away from their form mistress. 'You say she doesn't like you but she _hates_ me.'

'She thinks Miss Cackle plays favourites with you.' Maud shook her head. 'Did you ever? I mean, _Ethel_ complaining about favourites when she's like, the biggest suck-up to HB?'

'I don't suck up to Miss Cackle!' Mildred was offended. 'She's just as nice to me as she is to everyone else. And HB doesn't play favourites with Ethel either—not _exactly_. I—I think it's just she annoys her less.' She sighed. 'I _am_ awfully clumsy, I used to drive my chemistry teacher nuts at my last school, and potions is sort of magical chemistry.'

Maud was giving her an odd look. 'I don't understand you, Millie. Why are you defending HB? She's horrid to all of us and she's horrider to you. Who knows, maybe _she's_ the one who jinxed your broom—' She paused, her jaw dropping. 'Oh my god, what if it really _was_ her?!'

Whereupon Mildred, whose stomach was still upset after the alarums and excursions of the day, was promptly and horribly sick.

* * *

Several days later and Constance was finally released from the durance vile of her room. It was not that Amelia could keep her locked up (they both knew Constance was capable of breaking any lock Amelia could devise); rather, it was that the Headmistress was bound and determined that Constance should keep her head swathed in strips of cotton until she deemed otherwise. Constance protested, Amelia insisted, and after a testy exchange on Constance's part and a touch of emotional blackmail on the Headmistress's, they reached an agreement. Constance would remain in her room and have a few quiet days ('That does not include catching up on your marking, Constance!) and in return the Headmistress would cease pestering about the bandages.

In truth, Constance did not regret the rest. The concussion was a severe one and for a couple of days keeping upright was a challenge, let alone walking or (horror of horrors) ingesting actual _food_. Amelia forced some of Mrs Tapioca's tomato and basil soup down her; Constance put up a token fight until she realised the soup wouldn't upset her and ... Mrs Tapioca's tomato and basil soup wasn't to be sniffed at, even by persnickety eaters like Constance Hardbroom.

Now, however, she was in fine form and better rested (and nourished, Amelia would say) than was usual by this point in any given term. Her keys jangled pleasingly at her waist as she stalked the halls towards the staffroom, their music an ever-present reminder of the authority she wielded within these walls; the clack of her heels provided a counterpoint, telling everyone within earshot that their Deputy Headmistress was back to her usual self, and as ready as ever to put the fear of herself into all troublemakers. Constance caught more than a few strangled yelps as she passed, but for once she let it go.

She even managed to open the staffroom door gently, instead of flinging it back in her usual manner. She wanted to observe her colleagues for once, and sending Davina into hysterics and Imogen into apoplectic rage wouldn't be a good start.

'Constance,' Amelia greeted from her favoured spot at the head of the long table. 'Good to see you. All better now?' She beamed maternally and her deputy narrowed her eyes in response; Amelia knew perfectly well how she was, none better.

All the same, she took her seat and attempted to smile with some degree of sincerity. 'Much better now, Headmistress, thank you. And all of you, you are well, I hope?'

Imogen and Lavinia exchanged a look while Davina stared open-mouthed, clear liquid trickling out of it. Constance repressed a shudder and refrained from suggesting that Davina mop up.

Amelia leaned forward to push the chanting teacher's jaw back into place. 'Everything's going beautifully, isn't it, ladies? The girls have behaved like—'

'—angels, the little dears,' Lavinia gushed and Constance rolled her eyes despite her best intentions.

'They _have_ been very good, Constance,' Ephreda added, glancing up from her eternal knitting. 'I think they were worried about you.'

Davina spluttered. Imogen snickered. Constance glared. Amelia sighed. Davina screeched and retired to her cupboard in a flurry of black organdie ... and the wound-up atmosphere in the little room suddenly relaxed, as if things shifted from their accustomed positions were now put back.

'How's Mildred?' Constance asked once she was seated and Lavinia had supplied her with her coffee. 'Did she need the hospital after all?'

'Hard to say.' Imogen plonked her elbows on the table and cradled her face in her hands, fair brows coming together in a straight line. 'I had a look at her wrist this morning. Miss Cackle thinks it's sprained but ... It's still causing her a lot of pain.'

'Didn't anyone try to reduce it?' Ephedra asked. 'Poor child, if it's been broken all this time—'

'I checked whilst she was unconscious,' Amelia said curtly—so curtly that Constance sent her a startled glance. 'There was no indication of anything that needed reducing and trying the spell anyway could've done more harm than good—as you should know!'

'It was just a suggestion,' Ephedra murmured, sending Constance a conspiratorial smile the latter did not appreciate. Allied disciplines or not, her loyalty would always be to the school and Amelia before her colleagues.

'I will look at it myself,' Constance promised. 'Is the girl back in school?'

There was a pause before Amelia said, 'Ye-e-s. Although I would have preferred she stay out for longer, Constance. I don't like the looks of her at all; she's turned into a frightened mouse, afraid of her own shadow.'

'Which is odd,' Imogen commented with a frown. 'Because whatever the kid's faults, I don't think a lack of courage is one of them.'

'Of course not!' Constance flared, anger erupting at the suggestion. 'She's Ermen's daughter, of _course_ she's—' She broke off, clamping her mouth shut and clasping her hands in her lap until the sharp edges of her nails dug painfully into her palms.

Imogen had gone white. 'D'you think I could forget that, Constance Hardbroom? D'you think I could _ever_ forget it?' She jumped to her feet, slamming her hands on the table with such fierceness that it rattled. 'I was there too, remember? She told _me_ where she was going, not _you_ , Madam Bloody High and Mighty. _I_ was the one who told you what was happening!'

'You shouldn't have,' Constance gritted. 'You should have stayed. If you hadn't left her—'

'We'd all be dead, that's what it comes down to.' Imogen was no longer shouting; her voice was quiet. Weary, even. 'All of you talk about what Ermen did, how it saved our world. The truth is, she was as arrogant as our dear colleague here, believing that only _she_ knew how to fix everything ... She came within a whisker of killing not just herself but all of us so _do_ _not_ talk to me about Saint Bloody Ermenburga because I—'

'Miss _Drill_.' It was all Amelia said, but it was enough. The Games mistress left without another word, and the remaining four stared fixedly at the gouges in the table, the silence stretching painfully.

'I—I think I'll check on my hogweed,' Ephedra mumbled, bundling her knitting into her bag and vanishing swiftly. Lavinia did likewise, leaving only Constance and Amelia sitting at the big table.

Once they were alone Constance carefully put her own elbows on the table and buried her face in her hands, struggling for composure and praying that Amelia would leave her be.

Naturally, Amelia did no such thing. She sat and waited as she always did, and Constance experienced a pang of resentment at the older woman's unfailing concern—never to mention her enormous capacity for patience.

'The worst of it is ... Imogen's _right_ ,' Constance confessed at last, when it was a choice between speak, sob or scream. 'Ermen ... Ermen _did_ bring it on herself. When she found the Register and realised what it meant ... How many would die ... She wanted to act then and I discouraged her, but when Edmund was killed—She was unstoppable, Amelia.' Constance dropped her hands and met her employer's eyes. 'I only left her for—' She couldn't go on and Amelia laid a hand on hers; a touch so light it stroked like a feather.

'It wasn't your fault, Constance. Remember, I knew her as well as I know you, you were both my girls, for better or worse. When Edmund died, Ermen—' Amelia shook her head. 'I knew she was unhinged with grief. I worried she was neglecting Mildred, that's why I asked you to stay with her. Ermen was your best friend, practically a sister, and Mildred your goddaughter. But my dear girl—' Amelia's voice caught and her hold on Constance's hand tightened. 'I _never_ meant that you should feel entirely responsible for her, or that you had to watch her all hours of the day and night.'

Constance gently withdrew her hand and sat back, her shoulders squaring. 'You didn't ask me to do that, Miss Cackle. I owed Ermen. She loved me, you see. She was the only person who had ever loved me. I would have done anything for her, Amelia ... _anything_.' She closed her eyes against the memory of the green flash of a killing spell; it was delivered with love, delivered unwillingly and as a last resort—but a killing spell all the same.

'And you did.' Amelia's gaze was steady. 'When Ermen realised things had gone wrong ... that she couldn't control the Register's power in the way she thought... She did the right thing, Constance. Imogen couldn't have helped. Even then, Imogen was only a very average witch.'

Constance studied her hands for a long moment before looking up. 'Her name was on the blacklist. If Ermen hadn't acted when she did, Imogen would've been rounded up and ...' She gave a tiny shake of her head.

'It was a good, good thing you did, both of you. Not perhaps done in the wisest or safest or best of ways ... but our world owes you _both_ a debt, although only one is acknowledged. Constance, _why_ won't you tell people the truth?'

' _What_ truth, Miss Cackle? That Mildred's mother essentially abandoned her? That I killed my best friend? That you helped me cover it up to get our world back on its feet as quickly as possible? I don't think anyone's ready for the truth. In any case, I don't wish for the attention. It is easier being hated, especially when you are used to it.'

'It doesn't have to be that way.'

Constance stared at the older woman, her eyes narrowing. 'Amelia, I'm Mildred's _godmother_. I stood up and swore I would care for her if anything happened to Edmund and Ermen and ... I broke that promise. I'm forsworn as it is. I will _not_ allow you or anyone to damage that child further. The truth does not _always_ set you free.'

The Headmistress's gaze had turned steely. 'Even if it puts her—and you—in danger?'

Constance swallowed. 'We will deal with that if it happens, Headmistress.'

'I see.' Amelia's eyes were still that disconcertingly hard shade of grey. 'In that case, Constance, I must ask you: what did you do with the Register eleven years ago?'

* * *

 **TBC**

 **Don't forget to drop a line and I shall love you forever. And more importantly, write faster. (Priorities, right?)**


	5. Chapter 5

**ZeIncomparableEm** : * _blushes*_ Thanks! Apologies in advance for the lack of you-know-what. :D

 **Guest (and Guest? lol)** : Aw, I'm thrilled you're enjoying the story so much! Hope it continues.

 **TheWorstTwitch** : Thank you for the reviews on the two last chapters! As I said, I'm using HP as nothing more than a template so hadn't made the connections quite as explicitly as you did, but there's truth in what you say. Especially Bat as Trelawney, lol. I can see that, actually…

This chapter provides a slight lull before things pick up a bit. It continues straight on from the last chapter so you might need to refresh your memories.

Enjoy!

* * *

 **Five**

* * *

'Why— _why_ are you asking me that _now?_ ' Constance whispered, the stricken look in her dark eyes piercing Amelia to the heart. 'You promised you wouldn't—'

'That was eleven years ago,' Amelia told her steadily. 'Things have changed. We both know there's a change of mood at the High Council, never to mention the WTC. The _ridiculous_ new regulations show that; you said yourself they're verging on the draconian.' Amelia paused, studying her deputy. She knew this next piece of news would upset the younger woman, but she'd never inquired precisely why. 'Furthermore, since Tempe's retirement as head of the WTC we knew someone new would be appointed. This letter came this morning.' She reached into her cardigan and produced the official notification, printed on parchment as such notifications always were.

Constance eyed it as though it had fangs. 'Amelia—'

The Headmistress steeled herself against the unwonted note of appeal in her deputy's voice and placed it on the table. 'Read it, Constance.'

She saw Constance swallow as she obeyed, her hands trembling as she smoothed the sheet before her, her eyes already scanning its contents. When Amelia heard her breath hitch it took everything she had not to place a hand on the younger woman's shoulder; right now, she had to be Constance's employer, not her friend or surrogate mother.

'You understand.'

'Yes.' Constance sounded strangled. 'But—but _how?_ Even forgetting her part in the war, she's ... Good God, Amelia, I know the girls think _I'm_ harsh and unforgiving, but in comparison to Hecketty Broomhead I'm as flabby as Davina!'

Amelia pulled her cardigan closer. 'She has friends in high places.'

'The Hallows,' Constance spat. 'And the Paddocks and all their satellites. Why are the old families always full of such _imbeciles?_ '

Amelia tried not to feel offended. The Cackles were an ancient family too. 'Centuries of inbreeding, my dear. You and I were lucky to escape; I, because since Hermione Cackle my family has been considered ... eccentric. And you, because—because, well...'

'Because my father's family had so intermingled with the non-magical population that the magical quality in our blood had almost disappeared,' Constance said bitterly. 'There's no need to gloss over it, Amelia, I know perfectly well what I am.'

'The most powerful witch it has ever been my privilege to train,' Amelia told her quietly. 'I know you suffered from the snobbery of your schoolmates, Constance, but that was a long time ago. At least even when the Morrigan was at its height, purity of blood was never an issue; that was perhaps our only saving grace. The Morrigan were only concerned with prowess and power, nothing else.'

'It amounts to the same thing in the end.' Constance rubbed her temples; in the dying afternoon light her pale hands looked ghostly. 'I am the exception that proves the rule.'

'Which even Hecketty realised, or you would never have studied under her.' Amelia hesitated. 'Constance, why—?'

She was unsurprised when Constance rose abruptly, her customary calm descending like a cloak. Amelia knew her deputy used it as a shield; had used it since her schooldays when only Ermen seemed able to break though. It hurt to think that Constance felt the need to use it now.

'If you don't object, Headmistress, I would like to go to Mildred before the supper-bell goes.'

'And the Register?' Amelia prodded when the younger woman turned. 'That was the point of this conversation. Hiding the truth for Mildred's sake is very commendable, but I'm responsible for the entire school. If our world is becoming dangerous once again, I have to know—I _need_ to know without a shadow of doubt that our pupils are safe.' The Headmistress realised her hands were cold, and not just her hands; she was trembling inside at the memories of Cackle's as a sanctuary. And when that sanctuary was broken ... She shuddered. To this day she was haunted by nightmares.

And the Register was the very embodiment of those nightmares.

Constance was watching with eyes that had always seemed to see too much, even as a child.

'The Register is _safe_ , Headmistress. I give you my word.'

Amelia's internal shaking was now convulsing her entire body. She hated to push this but it was necessary, even at the cost of Constance's affection.

'I'm afraid that isn't good enough.' She winced when Constance recoiled, as from a slap, and the words tumbled out. ' _Please_ understand. If it was just us, I'd trust you, I'd trust you with everything and everyone ... but Constance, if there's the _slightest_ chance ... _any_ chance at all ... that that accursed thing could find itself in the wrong hands—'

'Then they would have to go through me,' Constance said. 'And I mean that quite literally.'

Amelia clasped her hands. 'What if you're not here? Or—or ...' She couldn't finish and Constance, watching her, seemed almost amused.

'Or dead?'

'Or dead,' Amelia agreed although the words physically hurt her to say. Some of the stiffness went out of the younger woman's frame.

'Then the knowledge of its whereabouts will die with me.'

Amelia shook her head. 'I'm sorry—'

'Is that _still_ not enough, Headmistress?' Constance's voice was taking on the icy quality that Amelia had heard directed at the girls, but never before at her. It made her flinch; ice burns. 'I have it with me always. Furthermore, you have seen it more than often than you know.'

'But—'

'Here.' Constance reached to the bundle of keys that that were as much a part of her daily garb as her tightly coiled hair. 'This one...' She touched a key that was as average as it could be; it was neither new nor old, large or small, unduly bright or unduly tarnished. There was, in fact, nothing remarkable about it at all.

'You _transmogrified_ it?' Amelia was both alarmed and impressed but her deputy was shaking her head.

'Not _just_ that. The Register itself is hidden behind many spells; forgive me if I do not tell you how many. If someone manages to break through those _and_ the half dozen or so hexes ... the Register can only be fully accessed through _my_ magical fingerprint—or yours.'

Before Amelia could respond, Constance inclined her head in the old-fashioned gesture of obeisance she sometimes used and was gone.

* * *

The keys at Constance's waist hung heavier than their actual weight as she made her way to Mildred Hubble's dormitory, more shaken by the encounters in the staff room than she cared to admit. The confrontation with Imogen Drill was bad enough but what followed afterwards with Amelia ... She pushed it from her mind. She could not dwell on it or she would break down, and that she would not risk until she was safely in her room for the night.

Girls swarmed around her, most diving out of her way with rapidly muttered apologies as they headed for the nearest dormitory. When Constance realised that one of the girls was Maud Moonshine, she stopped.

'Maud.'

The first year looked wary, even afraid. 'Yes, Miss Hardbroom?'

'Is Mildred in her room?'

'Yes, Miss Hardbroom.'

'Is she alone?'

Maud wilted. 'Yes, Miss Hardbroom. She—she won't come out.'

'I see.' Constance glanced at her watch. 'The gong's about to go for supper. You'd better get down or you'll be late.'

'What about Millie?'

' _I_ will take care of Mildred. Go on.' When Maud still hesitated Constance allowed her tone to harden. 'At the _double_ , Maud Moonshine!' and the girl scuttled down the corridor as fast as her legs would carry her.

Constance watched her go until her pig-tailed head had vanished out of sight. Only when she was certain that the corridor was deserted did she rap lightly on Mildred's door.

Silence.

Constance rapped again, this time more sharply.

'Go _away_ , Maud! I'm not hungry!'

'It isn't Maud.'

A pause. Then, 'I'm sorry, miss. Miss, I don't feel very well. Can't I miss supper?'

Constance let the second hand on the clock on the far wall tick around its face twice before she said, 'May I come in, Mildred?'

The door opened a chink, revealing a sliver of damp and suspicious first year. 'You don't usually ask.'

Constance closed her eyes and summoned every shred of patience she possessed. 'This time, Mildred Hubble, I _am_. May I come in?'

For a moment Miss Hardbroom thought Mildred would refuse. Then common sense (or the desire to survive the night without being turned into something amphibious) made her slowly pull her door wide and step back.

Her form mistress scanned both girl and room in silence. It was cold and damp as these first year dormitories always were, but Mildred's dampness came from prolonged crying. The room was a mess and so was the child; the very bed was pointed askew, the thin covers twisted in a heap.

Constance was aware of anxious eyes glancing at her as she took this in, but she refused to meet them until she was ready. In truth, her heart was racing and her hands unpleasantly clammy; this sort of conversation with one of her pupils did not come naturally.

Mildred took obvious fright. 'I'm, I'm sorry, miss. I'll tidy up, I'll—'

'Leave it, girl. _Leave it_.' Constance sent a spark of wordless magic around the room, instantly transforming it. Bed and bedclothes straightened, random socks strewn across the flagstone floor put themselves away, and even Mildred's boots shuffled until they were standing like a pair of soldiers, their laces neatly tucked inside.

It was a very minor display but Mildred's eyes were almost out on stalks and Constance's lips thinned, from sadness rather than anger.

 _This is what you did, Ermen,_ she thought. _Mildred should have grown up with this. She should be learning these spells herself, not gawping like a non-magical child at a circus!_

 _You're her godmother, Constance_ , Ermen's voice murmured in her mind. _You promised to teach her if I could not_ —

'Miss Cackle and Miss Drill are worried about you,' Constance started crisply, anxious to drown those mental reproaches. 'They say you haven't been yourself; likewise, Maud.'

The small freckled face before her flamed. 'Miss—'

'Sit _down_ , Mildred.' Constance sat on the bed and patted a spot beside her. 'Here.' When Mildred hesitated she glared. 'For goodness _sake_ , child, you're not in trouble—for _once_. Just _sit_.'

Mildred obeyed, looking petrified. Constance refused to think how that made her feel.

'Let me see your arm.' Mildred proffered it and her form mistress took it gently, using her magic to sense what lay beneath the bruised and swollen skin with the lightest of feather touches. Mildred giggled—quickly choked off, but Constance glanced up in surprise.

'It tickles when you do that,' Mildred explained and Miss Hardbroom allowed herself a small smile.

'Better that than pain. Well, it's definitely not broken, the Headmistress was right about that.'

Once Constance released her, Mildred cradled the affected limb. 'What's wrong with it? Can you fix it?'

'Just a bad sprain. Keep it strapped,' Miss Hardbroom instructed. 'When's your bath night? Tonight?' Mildred nodded. 'Wash it gently and come to me before assembly in the morning and I'll strap it up for you. That will help it heal and allow you to get _some_ use out of it in lessons.'

Mildred's face fell. 'But I can't do _anything_ right with it, Miss Hardbroom. And it's not like I was doing brilliantly anyway.' She sounded worried and her form mistress eyed her in surprise; in her experience most eleven year olds did not tend to worry unduly about their schoolwork.

'Hmmm. Well, it's true that you're limited as that's your writing hand, but if you're willing there _is_ something you could do with the time.' Mildred looked up and Constance continued: 'You've been at a disadvantage from the start. Because you didn't grow up in our world you're lacking most of the basics, the general magical knowledge that children like Maud or Ethel will have picked up without realising. A course of selected readings would help with that. _Most_ of it would be during your free time, of course, but I would be willing to allow you to read during your potions lessons whilst we wait for your wrist to heal.' She gave the girl a thin smile. 'We do not wish to risk further explosions, I think.'

Mildred shook her head so fiercely that her ribbons gave up the ghost and slipped off the bottom of her plaits. Constance sighed and tutted, leaning forward to pick them up.

'I'm sorry—' Mildred squeaked and Constance twirled a finger, indicating she turn around. It was the work of moments for the Deputy Headmistress to tie the ends tightly and once she was done she tapped the girl's shoulder with a forefinger. When Mildred twisted to face her, she nodded in satisfaction.

'Now you're tidy—and for goodness sake, try to _stay_ tidy until your bell goes at nine. The way you stumble around here is a disgrace. All it requires is a little effort and discipline. Maud and the others will help you if you need it.'

'Thanks, Miss Hardbroom.' Mildred picked up the ends of her plaits, examined them, and directed a toothy beam at her form mistress, who blinked. She was not accustomed to receiving smiles like that. 'I really do want to try, miss. I'll—I'll do the readings but ... what if I don't understand them?'

'Ask Maud,' Constance told her, standing. 'Failing that, Fenella or Griselda should know. Those two generally _do_. You _could_ research it yourself in the library but if it's important and you cannot find help elsewhere, you may come to me.'

' _Thanks_ , miss,' Mildred said again, bouncing to her feet. 'I feel better now. I—I think I'd like to go down after all.'

Constance was about to dismiss her to the dining hall when she paused. 'Mildred, you should know we're not blaming you for what happened during the broomstick test.'

Mildred eyed her for a long moment before blurting, 'It wasn't an accident, miss. I mean, I didn't do it without meaning to.'

'I know.' Constance indicated the door with a brief nod. 'Go on; we'll talk as we walk. _This_ time. No, it was perfectly obvious that _someone_ or _something_ was in control of your stick—'

'I knew it!' Mildred burst out. 'But who? Maud says it's cos of who my mum was but ... that doesn't make _sense!_ Whatever happened was ... _ages_ ago!'

'People have long memories,' Miss Hardbroom said. Once they reached the foyer between the stairs and the Great Hall she stopped. 'Mildred, remember what I told you last week in class. Magic is not a toy; it can indeed be a dangerous business. However, there's no need to fear. Miss Cackle and I are _watching_.'

* * *

After Maud's comments that day in the infirmary, Mildred lost no time in telling her friend that she'd been wrong about HB.

'You weren't there,' she insisted triumphantly when Maud looked politely sceptical. 'She was so nice, Maudie—'

' _HB?_ I don't believe you.'

Mildred waggled a braid end at her. 'She _was_. Honest. She fixed my hair and checked my wrist and _everything_.'

'She gave you extra work to do too,' Maud reminded her. 'That sounds like the same old HB.'

But Mildred shook her head. 'You weren't there. She was _different_.' She glowed with hope. 'Maybe some day I'll be able to ask her about my mum—' but Maud choked her off by clapping a hand over her mouth, blue eyes round with horror.

'Don't even think about it.' Her eyes skittered furtively across the room. 'And don't talk about it either, you never know if she's listening.'

'You talked about it,' Mildred pointed out as she ripped Maud's hand away.

'That was different.' Maud really did look anxious. 'That was _before_ sh-someone-jinxed your broom.' She shuffled closer so they were squashed together on the narrow bed like sardines in a tin can. 'What if HB's being nice _on purpose?_ '

Mildred pulled her grey nightie down over her knees and hugged them. 'Why would she do that? Why would anyone?'

'To make you drop your guard, of course. Think about it. If you wanted to hurt someone, and you'd _nearly_ managed it once, wouldn't you want them to _not_ think it was you?'

Mildred hunched down, her tummy churning. It _sounded_ convincing. 'You're scaring me.'

'Good! 'Cos you should be scared! I am.'

Mildred felt like a pricked balloon; every light, happy feeling was draining away, leaving her flat and empty.

'I suppose you're right.' She sniffled and Tabby, curled in a tiny grey ball at the end of the bed, came to investigate. She lifted him to snuggle him under her chin, finding some comfort in the absurdly loud purrs that vibrated through her jaw. At least Tabby would never pretend to be something he wasn't.

'What should I do?' she said at last when she was sure she could speak without bawling.

Maud linked an arm through hers. 'You'll just have to be more careful, Millie. Even more than before, 'cos you heard Miss Hardbroom, she says she's going to be watching you. If you put a foot wrong—' The implied threat of that unfinished sentence sent a shiver rippling down Mildred's spine.

'I won't. I'll try ever so hard in class. I'll do those readings she wants me to do. I'll, I'll even out-Ethel Ethel, if I have to!'

Maud giggled softly. 'Well, maybe you don't need to go _that_ far.'

'But—'

'Millie! If you start sucking up, she'll know we're onto her. She's not _daft_. No. Just be careful and you've _got_ to practice flying, Mil, 'cos if you don't you'll catch it at the test at Halloween. There's no point in just … _handing_ yourself to you-know-who on a plate. Do the reading; that's a good idea, actually. You might learn something we can use—'

'U-use? F-for w-what?' Mildred's teeth had started chattering, and not just because of the frigid autumn winds blowing through the open casement.

'For proof, silly,' Maud hissed in her ear. When Mildred drew back to stare, her friend smiled her most beatific smile. 'That's all we need to put a stop to her. Get _proof_ she's tried to kill you—and _then_ we can go to Miss Cackle!'

* * *

 **TBC**

 _Next Time: The staff discuss, Mildred & Co. prepare for Halloween, and Ethel drops a bombshell._

 **Don't forget to let me know what you think. Also, any ideas on elements of HP, book TWW, or either of the tv shows that you'd like included … chuck them out.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Massive thankies to everyone who reviewed/followed/favourited. Mwah! In reverse order:**

 **TheWorstTwitch** : LOL, watch out for flying books. I did laugh at what you said about flying history books—I'm a historian. Wouldn't recommend that as a method of um, drumming it into people... Funny you should mention re: sports as I was wondering that myself. Quidditch is such a huge part of the HP books but none of the Cackle's girls ever really care—which TBH suits me as neither did I.

 **Guest** : Thank you! Constance is particularly easy for me to write. Which is worrying, come to think of it... As for Maud/Millie/HB, read on...

 **Phantomlistener** : Thank you! I wanted that scene to have emotional impact and I'm really glad it did for you. X

 **ZeIncomparableEm** : Ask and you shall receive... but not just yet. However, it'll come, it'll come. You'll just have to wait! LOL Maud. I think this time I've channeled more of '17!Maud so she might annoy you less. Um, on second thoughts... :)

 **Alexanne2017** : Thank you! Hope you enjoy this bit.

We're approaching the end of the first major arc but it'll feed directly on. So hold on to your, um, hats, and most importantly of all: enjoy, _mes amies_.

* * *

 **Six**

* * *

'I must say, Constance, setting Mildred Hubble that reading to do while her wrist recovered was a brainwave. She's come on in leaps and bounds!'

Constance turned in her seat from where she was frowning over Edith Moonshine's ideas for her WHC Potions coursework, her eyebrows going up.

' _Has_ she, now?

Lavinia beamed. 'She's practically a model pupil these days.'

Constance snorted. 'I'll believe that once I've seen her brew a potion as she should, Lavinia. Even Mildred can hardly get into trouble when all she's doing is reading.'

Lavinia looked surprised. 'You haven't allowed her to do any brewing?'

Constance clicked her tongue against the back of her teeth. 'Don't be absurd, _please_. That girl is dangerous enough in the potions laboratory at full capacity. With an injured wrist—' Shuddering at the thought, she turned back to Edith's coursework proposal—only to be disturbed once more by Imogen Drill.

'I think you're being very unfair. _I_ simply strapped Mildred's wrist up well and let her go.' Constance turned to glare and the younger mistress smirked. 'No doubt you're about to tell me that of course potion brewing requires a level of dexterity I simply don't understand—'

'You don't,' Constance gritted, remembering her first year as a qualified teacher when Imogen Drill was the bane of her existence. 'And it _does_. Before you attempt any comparisons may I point out that most flying accidents harm only the flyer. An accident in the potions lab—'

'Could blow up the whole school. Bla bla bla. _Yes_ , Miss Hardbroom, I remember.'

'If only the child would cheer up,' Lavinia sighed, and Constance gave up on her marking, twisting her chair so that she joined her colleagues around the big table.

'I know.' She paused, studying the grain of the wood beneath her fingers. 'Amelia and I are concerned.'

The junior chanting mistress nodded. 'When she first came she ... _sparkled_. Everything was new and exciting and if I had a pound for every time she shouted "wow" in class I could retire. Recently, the joy's gone out of her.'

Constance nodded. 'Not to put too fine a point upon it, she cowers. She's always braced for attack.'

'Can't say I've noticed it myself,' Imogen said, stretching luxuriously. 'In fact, she's been doing very well in my classes.' She wrinkled her nose at the Deputy Headmistress. 'Maybe the kid's finally learned to be scared of you, like the rest of them!'

'Imogen!' Lavinia scolded and the games mistress turned wide eyes on her.

'What? You know it's true. Constance here is rapidly on her way to becoming one of Cackle's legends—and not in a good way. When she dies she'll be a ghost haunting those poor unfortunates in detention, just wait—'

The tea gurgled ominously in Constance's tummy, making her wish she'd refused it. Was _that_ what her colleagues thought of her? Or the girls? She quailed at the thought of becoming a terrifying old witch like Broomhead, her name used to evoke fear and compliance for generations to come.

But Imogen was still talking.

'—so well in the test I thought I'd let her take the lead in the display for the Grand Wizard at Halloween. That'll cheer her up.'

It took Constance a moment to put the pieces together; when she did, the instinctive need to protect her goddaughter sent the words out in an explosive rush.

'You want to ... You want _Mildred Hubble_ to fly lead? In front of the _Grand Wizard?_ No, Miss Drill. I won't allow it.'

'Too late, Miss Hardbroom.' Imogen's smile was triumphant. 'I asked Amelia earlier today. She was thrilled.'

'I'm the girl's _form mistress_ , Miss Drill,' Constance hissed. 'Never to mention that unless I've been replaced without my knowledge I'm still the Deputy Headmistress of this school. You should have brought your ... _idea_ ... to me _first_. You had _no_ business worrying Amelia—'

'I _didn't_. Weren't you listening? She was thrilled!'

'I will _not_ _allow_ it!' Constance repeated, so flatly that her colleagues stared. 'And don't look at me like that, Imogen Drill. Putting Mildred Hubble in that position at this point is _sheer foolishness!_ '

'But Constance, _why?_ ' Davina protested, her lashes fluttering. 'If you're worried about the child and she's doing well in her broomstick work—'

'Davina, kindly do not interfere!' Constance snapped, standing so abruptly that her chair fell backwards with a crash. The chanting mistress made a sound halfway between a sob and a shriek and fled to her cupboard, leaving Constance striving for a semblance of calm as she faced the other three. 'Believe me, I know how this looks. I am not trying to be unkind. I have good reasons, _sound_ reasons for not permitting this. It is for Mildred's own good!'

'Mildred wants to do it. She _really_ wants to do it,' Imogen said very quietly. 'If you're going to forbid it _you_ can bloody well tell her so.' She stood, rounding the table to look the Deputy Headmistress straight in the eye. 'I don't know why I'm surprised but just for the record, in case you've ever wondered: you're a nasty, twisted bitch, Constance Hardbroom. What happened to Ermen was terrible, but guess what, we've _all_ suffered. We've _all_ lost something, _especially_ Mildred. You're not owed anything and I'm _sick_ of you and Amelia acting as if you are!'

Constance's hands clenched as she struggled with the desire to lash out at the younger woman. Only the memory of an action taken eleven years before prevented it.

'I'm sure—' Ephedra began, but Constance waved her quiet.

'It doesn't matter, Mistress Comfrey. Nothing I say to _her_ ever does.' She turned on her heel and left the room for her deserted potions lab, leaning on the door to close it while she pulled herself together.

 _I shouldn't let Imogen get to me like this_ , she thought, dropping onto the nearest stool and resting her elbows on the worn bench. She clasped her hands to still their trembling. _I know_ why _she does it but that doesn't make it easier to bear. If only she wouldn't use Mildred—_

She rubbed her temples in an attempt to alleviate the threatening headache. If Imogen had already sought and received Amelia's permission it was unlikely Constance would be able to prevent Mildred's participation in the display—and certainly not if Mildred was as able and enthusiastic as Imogen claimed. She groaned, wondering if she and Amelia had overreacted to Mildred's earlier accident; perhaps it could be attributed to complete inexperience after all.

She closed her eyes, mentally replaying the scene: Mildred's attempts at getting the broom to a decent height, the moment when the broom quite literally flew away with her—and the terrified screams that rang around the castle's turrets while Constance and Imogen raced across the courtyard, shouting futile suggestions and instructions.

The Deputy Headmistress straightened, her lips pursing as she thought of something else. A broomstick had no magic of its own; it could only act in conjunction with the magic and will of its rider. If that rider lacked focus, it could and would channel the will and magic of another. And Mildred's greatest flaw as a student was her lack of concentration.

Her lips compressing so tightly they threatened to disappear altogether, Constance left her seat and strode to her desk at the front of the classroom, waving a hand to unlock the bottom drawer. Extracting the _The Forbidden Almanac_ from its temporary home, she opened the book at a middle spread and re-read the spells found therein. Then she replaced the volume, her mouth twitching in a smile. The best way to protect Mildred Hubble—on a broom _or_ off it—was to teach her the value of application, and unless Constance was very much mistaken in the girl's character, she knew just the way to do it. All she had to do was find the right moment—and knowing Mildred, it would not be long in coming.

* * *

When the rising bell went on Halloween morning, Mildred rolled in her bed to peer at the sky through the uncurtained window. Tabby mewed and she rubbed her cheek against his small head.

'At least it's not _raining_ ,' she told the kitten who purred in response. She chuckled; no matter what else was going on, Tabby was a source of never-ending joy. Tabby and Maud. For those two alone Mildred would have endured worse than the suspicion that her form-mistress wished her harm.

She frowned. Until the beginning of that week she'd been completely convinced that Maud was right about that, and Monday's Potions lesson had initially done little to change that opinion.

A moment of distraction on Mildred's part had resulted in the emergency evacuation of the lab as it filled with toxic smoke. Once the fumes had cleared, Miss Hardbroom marched them back in and read everyone a lecture before condemning the entire form to cleaning cauldrons _and_ writing out the introductory caution in their potions textbook until, as she said, they could recite it in their sleep. That was to teach them all a lesson, she'd said. _Then_ she'd singled out Mildred for her part in the affair by setting a truly horrific essay on appropriate behaviours in the potions laboratory, due to be completed _that night_ in addition to the cauldron-scouring and caution-writing. By that point Mildred, feeling indignant and thoroughly ill-used ( _'It was an_ accident _, miss!'_ ) was more than ready to agree with Maud's dictum that their form mistress was 'totally evil'.

Back in her bed, Mildred turned over as she recalled the oddness of what came next.

She'd been at the tail end of the subdued crocodile leaving the classroom when Miss Hardbroom called her back. She'd turned reluctantly, Maud's claw-like grip digging into the fleshy part of her arm and heightening her instinctive panic.

'Yes, Miss Hardbroom?'

'A word.' Her form mistress had transferred her glare from Mildred to Maud. ' _Alone_ , Maud Moonshine.'

The first years exchanged frightened glances. Maud murmured, 'Be careful, Millie!' before scuttling out, leaving Mildred alone with the woman she'd come to fear more than she ever feared anyone before. She'd gulped, her heart beating so fast that she felt sick. What was Miss Hardbroom going to _do_ to her in addition to all the punishments she'd set? It was obvious she was still furious; the very air around her seemed to spark with it, and Mildred instinctively reacted as all frightened creatures do: by trying to appease her predator.

She squeaked an apology. Unfortunately, Miss Hardbroom remained unappeased and unimpressed, her glare scorching the space between them.

'Do you even know what you're sorry _for_ , Mildred Hubble?'

'Ummmm...' Mildred developed a whole new fascination for the bench's surface. 'For not being careful?'

' _Careful?!_ ' If HB had radiated anger before, now she was incandescent with it. 'Mildred Hubble, _how_ many times must I tell you that Cackle's is _not_ like your last school. Carelessness there was unfortunate. Here, it could get you _killed!_ '

Mildred stared, still uncomprehending, and Miss Hardbroom sighed.

'Sit _down_ , Mildred,' she ordered and Mildred gaped as her form mistress materialised in Gloria Newt's seat before her between one blink and the next.

 _'Sit!'_ HB barked and Mildred did, falling on the stool with a _thwap_ , her hands shooting out to grip the sides. A whimper of pain escaped her and Miss Hardbroom raised an eyebrow.

'Your wrist?' Startled by the concern, Mildred nodded. The older woman shook her head. 'You might need to strap it up again. That was a bad twist. It won't heal overnight.'

'It's OK most of the time,' Mildred dared to venture after a long pause. 'It just ... aches a bit. Especially after Potions.'

'Mildred—' Miss Hardbroom began in a softer tone and some of the girl's fear evaporated.

Being scared of HB looming over you while dissecting your every fault in minuscule detail was one thing. Being afraid of HB in scarily powerful witchy mode was another. Right now she was neither; seated, their gazes were nearly level, and the morning light emphasised with unflattering clarity how tired the mistress looked. That glimmer of humanity helped Mildred concentrate on the older witch's words.

'If you are to survive your training as a witch you _must_ start paying attention even in lessons that do not come naturally.' Miss Hardbroom spoke with an intensity that sent an icy finger down the girl's spine. 'I am not exaggerating when I say a mistake here could be fatal. For example—' She snapped her fingers and a book flew across the room to lie on the bench between them. A flick made it open at a particular spread and Mildred's eyes nearly fell out of her head.

'But that's—' she squeaked. 'Fenny and Gris said that's—'

'Ah. So you _did_ do the readings I gave you. The other mistresses said you had, but I must confess I wondered ... Good girl.' Miss Hardbroom looked pleased. 'Fenella and Griselda undoubtedly _also_ told you that only a member of staff can take this book from the library. That is because it contains the most dangerous potions and spells known to our world. Some are less so, but a single mistake...' Miss Hardbroom turned the book as she spoke, tapping the page to Mildred's left. ' _That_ is a simple sleeping potion.' Her finger moved to the right. 'This is an _Eternal_ Sleeping potion. I'm sure you can guess what it's _for_.'

Mildred shuddered and nodded, hunching down on her stool as she wrapped her arms around herself, and Miss Hardbroom's lips pursed.

' _Exactly_. Now, Mildred Hubble, what is the difference between these spells?'

Mildred leaned forward, frowning as she scanned the ingredients and methods for both potions. 'There ... there isn't one,' she tried at last. 'There's only tiny differences in the amounts.'

'For some ingredients, that could be enough,' Miss Hardbroom reminded her. 'However, you are correct. The key difference between these potions lies in the heart and mind of the brewer.' She paused. 'What's the first thing Miss Cackle tells you in Charms?'

'That the feeling matters more than the words when you're casting spells,' Mildred whispered. Her teeth chattered as she raised horrified eyes to her form mistress and that lady gave her a grim smile.

'Precisely. _Now_ you understand why you must pay attention in _all_ of your classes. It may not matter _now_ —the worst that could happen is the sort of chaos you've produced today—but later it could mean the difference between life and death. Being a witch is a great privilege, Mildred Hubble. It is also a great responsibility. Remember that. Now you may go.'

Mildred wasted no time in obeying, but she was quietly thoughtful that evening, listening to Maud with little more than half an ear. For the remainder of the week she did her best in all classes rather than just those she enjoyed, and gained her reward on Thursday when HB told her she'd made the best potion in the class—much to Ethel and Drusilla's disgust.

'What's going on with you, Millie?' Maud demanded as they crossed the inner courtyard that lunchtime. 'If you're trying to suck up to HB I think you're going too far.'

'I'm _not_ ,' Mildred returned. 'I just ... I told you about that book she showed me. It made me think. I was right, what I said before. She doesn't hate us, she's just ... trying to keep us safe. That's why she shouts.'

'I'm not saying she's not a good _teacher_ ,' Maud argued. 'She is. Everyone says she's the best. But that doesn't mean she isn't out to get you, Mil!'

'She _isn't_ ,' Mildred insisted, her faith in her mother's once-best friend restored. 'And what's more, I don't believe she had anything to do with my mum dying either.'

Maud sniffed her opinion of this and changed the subject. 'Ready for tomorrow night?'

Mildred nodded. 'I think so.' She rubbed her wrist. 'I wish this would stop aching, though.'

Maud peered at her through thick lenses. 'Aren't you strapping both wrists? That's what the pro fliers do.'

'That's what Drill said.' Mildred grinned. 'And HB, _imagine_. I had to go to Miss Cackle's office at break and HB told me to make sure I strapped up. S'pose I better had 'cos if I don't and something goes wrong I'll never hear the end of it.'

'Just don't let _her_ strap them for you, _or_ check your broom,' Maud advised darkly and Mildred sighed, accepting that her friend would never be convinced. However, there was no time to discuss it further that day, for after prep and supper Mildred had to attend a final 'dress rehearsal' for the flying display. That went without a hitch and Miss Drill's praise sent her to bed with a warm feeling inside.

Tabby's insistent pawing on her collarbone returned her to her room together with the realisation that Halloween had dawned at last—and she only had fifteen minutes to get dressed and downstairs. _That_ got her moving quickly and the rest of the day passed equally swiftly until ten at night, when she was due to meet Miss Drill in the Great Hall with the other fliers.

She arrived to find both Headmistress and Deputy Headmistress waiting while Miss Drill fussed over Fenella Feverfew's broomstick brush. Miss Cackle waved her over.

'All ready, dear?' she asked with the gentle smile that Mildred loved. She nodded, beaming, and the Headmistress gave her a quick hug. 'I'm sure you'll do splendidly and we'll be cheering you on. Won't we, Constance?'

'Hmmm,' said Miss Hardbroom, dark eyes raking Mildred from top to toe. She twirled a finger and the girl obediently turned. 'You'll do, I suppose. At least you put a brush through your hair—'

' _And_ her bootlaces are tied,' Miss Cackle added, her eyes twinkling as she indicated said boots.

'Have you checked your broom?' Miss Hardbroom demanded. Mildred swallowed, remembering Maud's warning. She didn't believe it, but—

'I checked it using all the spells you suggested,' she said quickly when her form mistress reached for the stick. ' _Honestly_ , miss.'

'And you're _sure_ you don't want me to look at it?'

Mildred shook her head and Miss Cackle laughed.

'Good for you, dear. You must admit, Miss Hardbroom, that it's much better for Mildred to stand on her own feet. We can't always be there for her.'

'Hmmm,' Miss Hardbroom said again. 'Off with you, girl. Remember, your broom has no magic of its own. It can only channel it, so for _goodness_ sake, _pay attention!_ '

The warning remained in Mildred's mind throughout the rest of evening, from the moment the entire school (excepting a forlorn looking Miss Drill) went airborne to seek the sacred spot in the woods halfway between Cackle's and Hellibore's. They arrived without incident and Mildred, shaking with excitement and nerves, was drawn aside by Miss Cackle to meet the Great Wizard himself.

'So you're the Hubble girl, hey?' Mildred nodded meekly and tried not to shrink too obviously against her kindly Headmistress as the purple-garbed wizard glared at her from beneath bushy brows. 'You've a great deal to live up to, Miss Hubble. A very great deal!' She mumbled something in response and he grunted. 'Let's hope you're a better broomswoman than you're a talker, child. Amelia, shall we begin?'

Mildred's nerves vanished as soon as Miss Hardbroom waved her hand for the magical fireworks that started the display, her spirits soaring as she flew. It was dark and she was nearly above the treetops but for once these old twin terrors held no power; exhilaration surged as she successfully traced the steps of the aerial dance they'd worked on with Miss Drill.

Then came the point where the others dropped back and left Mildred, as leader, to circle high above the treetops alone. She quickly found that doing this move in the familiarity of Cackle's airspace was one thing; doing it elsewhere at the very moment the moon chose to hide behind a cloud was something else. She lost focus as all her fears came rushing back; it was her first flying lesson all over again. Her broom acted as if it had a mind of its own and Mildred, now flying completely blind, was too terrified even to scream. Disaster threatened as she dropped too far, the branches from the surrounding trees reaching out for her, poking and pulling at her like the spindly hands she remembered from her childhood nightmares ...

A cloud moved and all at once she could see again, the trees silhouetting clearly against the moon's silvery light. Some of Mildred's fear receded as phrases from the past weeks repeated on a loop:

 _A broom has no magic of its own._

 _Pay attention._

 _The feeling matters more than the words._

All at once she was in control again, her mind and heart and magic fully focused on the broom to the exclusion of everything else. _Now_ she finally understood the joy of flying; her broomstick had become an extension of her body and she whooped in delight as she zoomed around the double loop that so terrified her when Miss Drill first suggested it. After that it was time to land and she came down safely to the sound of clapping and cheering, but she was in such a euphoric state that nothing truly registered until her form mistress approached.

'Well done, Mildred,' Miss Hardbroom told her after Miss Cackle and the Grand Wizard had offered their half-heard congratulations. 'Very well done _indeed_. I am proud of you.'

'Thanks, Miss Hardbroom!' Mildred called, but before she could say more she was pulled away by a phalanx of first and second years, all talking at once.

'You were the absolute _bats_ , Millie!' Maud shrieked and Mildred laughed.

'I _was_ , wasn't I?'

The two embraced, only pulling apart when Ethel Hallow said, 'You might be everyone's pet right now, but don't get too comfortable, Mildred Hubble. I wouldn't waste my time sucking up to HB either. After all, why would she want anything to do with a freak like you when she killed your mum?'

For Mildred, everything stopped. The noise around her faded to nothing as Ethel's statement echoed in her skull: _she killed your mum_.

'I—' she tried, wanting to accuse Ethel of lying, but the other girl's eyes were clear of anything but malice. Breathing hard, Mildred's gaze swivelled to Maud—only to find to her horror that her best friend refused to meet it.

All the air went out of her in a rush as realisation dawned.

 _This_ was why Maud insisted that their form mistress wanted to harm her. Because Ethel had told only the truth: that Miss Hardbroom _had_ killed Mildred's mother and everyone knew it. Everyone but Mildred herself.

* * *

 **TBC**

 _I must have edited, written, deleted, added, removed, rewritten this chapter a gazillion times. At one point it was heading for 5000 words which was just ... no. So I'd_ _ **very much**_ _like to know what you thought!_


	7. Chapter 7

_Apologies for taking so long with this—and I haven't even got a great excuse as this has been sitting more or less finished on my iPad for much of the past week as work and general demotivation got in the way._

 _A HUGE thank you to my three reviewers! Without you, this story would probably die (I did say I was rubbish at writing without feedback)._

 ** _ZeIncomparableEm_** : _I love your comment about naïveté versus experience because you're absolutely right, and I think as this story continues that theme will evolve. Because naïveté isn't always bad, and there's something sad in the loss of innocence. Minor panic: did I steal the Eternal Sleeping Potion from you? It's quite possible I did–or if not you, someone else! Ooops._

 ** _phantomlistener_** : _Another comment I absolutely love. I love how you've homed right into what I'm trying to do with the Constance/Mildred relationship here, and I'm sure you don't need me to tell you it's not going to be an easy ride!_

 ** _Guest_** : _Hope you enjoy this part too!_

* * *

 **Seven**

* * *

Mildred ran as she'd never run before, head down, body angled forward as she hurtled deeper into the woods. Her need to put as much distance between herself and everyone in the grove overwhelmed everything else, including her fear of the dark.

Branches grabbed and stabbed at her as she past, once even snagging on her unbound hair. Desperate to get away, she yanked the caught lock out by the roots, barely even registering the pain. Her leg muscles burned; despite Miss Drill's efforts Cackle's did not put the emphasis on physical sports that 'normal' schools did and Mildred did not realise how little time she'd spent actually _moving_ until now, when she needed every iota of speed she could muster.

 _Keep going, keep going, keep going!_ she chanted inwardly, driving her body on even when she could hear her breath whistling like an old train and her legs shook with every step.

Her breath caught on a sob as a flashback of that cruel little scene with Ethel replayed in her mind's eye: _Why would she want anything to do with a freak like you when she killed your mum?_

And Maud's refusal to meet her eyes, proving she'd known all along.

 _Why didn't she_ tell _me?_

 _Miss Cackle must know!_

That betrayal hurt almost as much as Maud's did. Mildred had come to secretly think of the headmistress as the grandmother she'd always longed for and never had. The tears fell faster as she remembered Miss Cackle's warm hug earlier that evening, and how safe and loved it had made her feel. How could Miss Cackle be _that_ whilst all the time allowing the woman who'd murdered Mildred's mum to work at her school? And not just _work_ there, but hold power as deputy headmistress?

 _Miss Hardbroom killed my mum._

That was the thought that, more than any other, kept repeating endlessly. It made both perfect sense and no sense at all. Why would she do it? Maud's explanations ( _She turned bad_ , or _Maybe they rowed_ ) didn't hold much water. If HB was so evil, why was she allowed to work as a teacher? Mildred remembered the gossip from her first term at the comp when one teacher had to leave for 'inappropriate behaviour' with a sixth former. She knew teachers had rules they had to obey, just like pupils did, and surely not even the magical world could overlook _murder_. As for the other, Mildred couldn't imagine killing anyone—not even the ever-irritating Ethel Hallow—let alone her best friend just because of some stupid _row_.

 _Miss Hardbroom killed my mum._

An involuntary wail escaped, disproportionately loud in the near-quiet of the woods, and Mildred succeeded in scaring herself so badly that she tripped and fell hard, crashing into a mushy gloop composed of mud and damp, decaying leaves. Nature protested as birds escaped their branches in a flapping, rustling, twig-snapping flurry, their raucous cawing broadcasting their indignation at the presence of the alien in their midst.

Mildred froze in her slimy bed, her breath coming in harsh pants. The birds were the last straw; their barely-seen movement and loud cries gave every night terror she'd ever had form and shape. Cold seeped through the wool of her cloak, penetrating deep within her bones, and Mildred's teeth chattered so hard her jaws ached.

Lingering tendrils of common sense told her she should move—but to what end? To rejoin the others? To sit quietly in class while Miss Hardbroom—her mother's murderer—lectured them yet again on carelessness? To see Miss Cackle's kindly smile, knowing the secrets it hid? At this moment the terrors of the nighttime forests were preferable.

Or she could go home, to Uncle John, Aunt Hilda and her diamanté-spangled cupboard under the stairs. She could run away. The thought was appealing until she remembered that would also mean returning to the local comp and her breath hitched. Could she go back to being that girl? At least at Cackle's she would learn how to use her magic and ultimately be able to defend herself.

She should move. She should, but her limbs felt as though they were hung about with weights, keeping her prone. It was too much effort to move; perhaps if she rested her eyes a little she'd know better what to do, where to go. And it wasn't as if she was cold anymore; the shivering had practically stopped.

When sleep beckoned, she went gladly.

* * *

'Mildred!' Maud shouted when her friend slipped away from them, disappearing with disconcertating swiftness into the anonymous blackness. 'Mildred, come _back!_ '

'Let her go,' Jadu advised, her eyes shadowed in the moonlight. 'She probably just wants a minute by herself.'

'But—' Maud protested, standing on tippy-toes in an attempt to see beyond the crowd of girls surrounding her. 'She can't go off by herself! Not here! She'll get lost!'

'Yes, Hubble Bubble _would_ do that, wouldn't she,' Ethel sneered and Maud turned on her, her hands going to her hips.

'Shut up, Ethel! This is all your fault! Why do you have to be so ... so mean!'

'How was I to know she didn't know?' Ethel took a step backwards, thereby stamping on someone's toes. Maud heard their cry of pain; Drusilla, perhaps. She hoped so. She deserved it for not choking Ethel off. ' _Everyone_ knows.'

' _I_ didn't,' Ruby piped. 'Nor Jadu, I bet.'

'That's cos you shouldn't even _be_ here, you—' Ethel started before Maud cannoned into her head-first, thus cutting her off. Ethel was the taller of the two, but she was slightly built and taken by surprise—no match for Maud's unbridled fury.

The pair rolled in the mud as Ethel reached for Maud's glasses while Maud hauled on Ethel's blonde hair with a right good will. Maud could feel Ruby and Jadu pulling at her, but weeks of pent-up frustration with Ethel Hallow had finally found a vent and it was too satisfying to stop—until Griselda Blackwood jerked them apart and onto their feet with a firmness worthy of Miss Hardbroom herself.

'D'you _want_ HB down on us?' Fenella Feverfew hissed as Griselda held Ethel and Maud at arm's length by their collars, like a pair of squabbling kittens. 'Cos if so, just carry on!'

'She attacked me!' Ethel cried while Maud spat, ' _You_ started it!'

'Oh, _shut up_.' Griselda shook them, looking so disgusted that Maud and Ethel found themselves exchanging sheepish glances, much to their mutual horror. 'Keep going like this and we'll _all_ suffer, not just you—and believe me, if that happens HB'll be the least of your worries!'

'Who d'you think you are anyway?' Ethel demanded shrilly, twisting out of the elder girl's grasp. 'You're _nobody_. You're only a year older than us—'

'Just ignore them, Ethel,' Maud advised, as offended as her form-mate by this affront to their dignity. ' _Some_ people are a bit full of themselves, if you ask me.' Taking Ethel's arm, she deliberately turned her back on the second years and pulled her towards the huddle of first formers staring in frank awe.

Magical spats were not uncommon at Cackle's, but full-on physical fights _were_. Only Jadu and Ruby, both of whom had come from normal primary schools, were unruffled.

'That was some fight!' Ruby grinned as Maud checked her glasses hadn't suffered unduly in the tussle. She scowled, peering myopically at her friend.

'Never mind us, what about Millie? Did anyone actually think to look for her?' Ruby's grin faded and Maud's scowl turned into a glower. 'So you all just _stood_ there, like—like—'

Drusilla tossed her red head. 'As if a scaredy-baby like Mildred Hubble would go far!' She smirked. 'I bet she's lurking nearby, too wimpy to go anywhere else. Good thing too, we're miles from home. Can you imagine what'd be like to left out here _alone?_ '

Maud sat down hard on a fallen tree trunk. 'What if she's _not?_ Lurking, I mean.'

Ruby shrugged. 'That's easy. We'd have to tell Miss Cackle—'

Maud jerked upright with an emphatic 'No way!' while Ethel seemed the closest to panicked any of them had ever seen her.

'We can't!'

'But why?' Ruby's confusion was plain. ' _You_ said'—she pointed at Ethel—'that everyone knows HB killed Mildred's mum. So what's the big deal?'

Maud and Ethel shared a look, unwillingly united by their shared heritage as the daughters of ancient magical houses.

'Everyone _knows_ ,' Maud began slowly. 'But—'

'No-one talks about it,' Ethel whispered as they leaned in to hear her better. She sent an uneasy glance towards the teachers seated around the fire with the Grand Wizard and Maud experienced a flash of understanding: Ethel didn't suck up to HB for the sake of it. She sucked up because she was _scared_.

Jadu was frowning. 'So nothing's been done about it? She's never been punished?'

Ethel shook her head. 'Would _you_ like to try punishing HB?' She shivered, her sharp features pinched in the flame-light. 'Besides, no-one knows for certain it was her, but ... it couldn't have been anyone else. And we all know how powerful HB is. It takes a special kind of power to be able to actually _kill_ someone—'

'There's a spell,' Gloria Newt added, surprising them. She so rarely spoke. 'But it's like Miss Cackle's always telling us in Charms. Knowing the words isn't enough, you have to feel it. So to _kill_ someone...' Her freckled face was ghostly and the first years huddled together like frightened chicks.

'You'd have to really mean it,' Maud whispered hoarsely as Ethel nodded. 'Which is why she can't know we told Millie. If she got that angry _once_ —' She trailed off, knowing from the aghast faces around her that they understood.

Ethel leaned in once more.

'My dad warned me before I came. He said I wasn't to annoy Constance Hardbroom _at all_ because she was _dangerous_ and—and he couldn't swear he'd be able to rescue me if—if—'

'So why is she our form mistress?' Jadu whispered.

'My Aunt Tilly used to say HB has some sort of hold on Miss Cackle,' Maud said slowly. 'I always thought she was kidding, but now—' She shook her head.

Ruby looked sick. 'But that means ... that means none of us are safe!'

'Exactly,' Ethel nodded. 'And that's why everyone has to promise to keep quiet, no matter what. I'm sorry about Mildred, Maud'—a declaration that made Maud sniff—'but we didn't _make_ her run off. I—I probably shouldn't have said what I did and-and when she comes back I'll apologise. I _will_ ,' she added when Maud's shock showed in her dropped jaw. 'I'll even tell HB some excuse—you'll know she'll believe _me_ —if Mildred's not back by the morning. But only if everyone _swears_.'

The first years went quiet. By this time they could all recite the Witches' Code back-to-front and Ethel's choice of words was not lost on them.

'Really swear?' Maud questioned, her palms clammy at the enormity of what Ethel was asking. 'Like, an _oath?_ ' The other girl nodded and Maud moistened her lips, hating herself for what she was about to do but seeing no other way.

'I don't like it, but ... OK.' She sent Jadu and Ruby an imploring look when they physically stepped away from her. 'Please. I don't like it any more than you do but we have to. No-one can talk about this. _No-one_. And if Millie doesn't get back tonight Ethel's the only one who'd be able to convince HB without telling the _real_ truth.'

'But an _oath?_ ' Jadu looked ready to cry. 'Maud, that's not something to mess with! If—if we swear this and one of us breaks it—'

'You'll be forsworn and there'll be penalties.' Ethel sounded pleased. 'Do you have any better ideas?'

'You could just help, like, out of the goodness of your heart,' Ruby suggested. 'Like you said, it was your fault. If you'd kept your big gob shut—'

'I don't have to listen to this!' Ethel hissed, trying to back away, but Ruby grabbed her.

'Yes, you do. If anything happens to Mil it's your fault—'

'If you're that bothered, why aren't you out looking for her?' Drusilla asked, and Ruby shrank back. 'Oooh, look, big bad Ruby isn't quite so big and bad after all, is she?'

' _Could_ we look for her?' Jadu asked, turning to Maud. 'If we all went... Even HB couldn't punish all of us!'

For a moment Maud considered it; her heart lifting ... if they found Mildred everything would be OK. They'd be able to explain and no-one would get into trouble. She was creeping towards the point where Mildred had vanished when their form mistress's voice echoed across the grove.

'Ten minutes, girls! If you're not ready to leave by then you'll have to find your own way back—and good luck to you. Maud Moonshine, _where_ do you think you're going?'

Maud's skin prickled at the sudden increase of volume at her name and she turned slowly, unsurprised to find Miss Hardbroom glaring at her, arms crossed over her chest and fingers at the ready.

An entire bevy of butterflies chased through Maud's tummy and for a second she thought she'd be sick.

' _Well?_ '

'I—I lost my hat,' she gabbled.

' _Really_.' Miss Hardbroom's voice held the edge the girls hated. 'You must think I was born yesterday. Your hat is on your head, girl, as I suspect you knew. Now get back with the others and let's have no more nonsense!' She vanished on the last word and Maud, thoroughly foiled, returned disconsolately to her peers.

'You _idiot_ , Maud,' Ethel said through her teeth. 'You nearly ruined everything! What if she'd decided to do roll?'

'She didn't,' Maud said, shivering. It was so cold. If Mildred was out there—

'We haven't got time for this,'Ethel was saying. 'Remember what I said earlier. Hardbroom is dangerous and I'm not doing anything that could me in trouble with her—and certainly not for _Mildred Hubble_. If you want my help with getting her back, you know what you have to do!'

For a split second Maud contemplated telling Ethel she could go hang. She would run to Miss Cackle and tell her everything; the Headmistress would surely protect her. She could—

'Come _on_ , girls!' Miss Hardbroom called, impatience in every note, and Maud realised it was too late. She was out of time and Ethel held the upper hand.

'O-OK.' She swiped at the tears pooling along the bottom rim of her glasses and raised her hand. 'I—I swear on my honour as a witch. I won't tell.'

'And the rest of you?' Ethel prompted, straightening her hat.

'Do it!' Maud hissed, and the others repeated her actions. She could feel Ruby and Jadu staring accusingly, their gazes searing her very soul.

Please _be back tomorrow, Millie_ , she thought when Miss Hardbroom ordered the first years into the air. _I don't know what'll happen if you're not._

* * *

Amelia poured herself a cup of freshly brewed tea, humming under her breath as she waited for her colleagues to join her for brunch. It was nearly one in the afternoon and the sound of the girls moving overhead as they prepared for their lessons enhanced her feeling of contentment. It was a beautiful autumn day and for once all was well with Cackle's Academy.

The staffroom door opened and she turned with a welcoming smile to face Constance's raised eyebrow.

'You're down early,' the younger woman commented as Amelia poured her a cup. 'Couldn't sleep?'

The Headmistress heaved a happy sigh. 'I slept perfectly, thank you.' She sipped her tea. 'Wasn't last night absolutely _splendid_?'

'It went better than expected,' Constance said stiffly and Amelia smiled.

'Oh, come now. You have to give Imogen credit where credit's due. Mildred did _perfectly_.' She pulled her glasses from the top of her head onto her nose and peered through them. 'I hope you're planning on telling her so.'

'Apart from that wobble just before the loop,' Constance pointed out and Amelia hid a smile. The younger woman was trying a little _too_ hard to be impartial, she felt. 'I did wonder then ... However, I admit that she pulled it off in the end.' A pause. 'And don't look at me like that, Amelia. I told her I was ... pleased.'

'And Imogen?' Amelia pressed, looking over the top of her glasses. 'I appreciate the two of you have a difficult history, but still. She's your junior here and for the sake of the school you must make a greater effort to get along.'

Constance looked stiffer than ever. 'If it will please you, Headmistress, I will ... congratulate her too.'

'Excellent! And here they are!' as the door opened to admit the rest of the staff. 'Afternoon, ladies! I hope we're all well rested and ready to take advantage of the good feeling from last night. I suggest—'

' _Please_ don't say a holiday, Miss Cackle,' Constance put in and Amelia shook her head.

'Not at all. In fact, I was going to suggest an afternoon of exams.' She chuckled when Constance's jaw dropped. 'I was _joking_ , Constance. No; no tests or holidays, just an ordinary afternoon of hard work to bring everyone down to earth. A little normality, that's what we need!'

'H'mmm.' The deputy headmistress scowled into her tea.

'The girls should have some kind of reward, Miss Cackle,' Imogen said, blue eyes sparkling. 'They did _brilliantly_. The Grand Wizard was so impressed, he said it was better than last year's effort.' She sent Constance a triumphant look. ' _Even_ with Mildred Hubble.'

Constance glared. ' _Yes_ , Miss Drill. Mildred did ... exceedingly well last night. Your faith in her was rewarded.'

Imogen feigned a swoon. 'Do my ears deceive me? Is the great Constance Hardboom actually admitting that someone else might know what they're doing?'

Constance's lips pressed together and Amelia said, sharply, 'Imogen, that's enough.' She looked around her staff. 'Mrs Tapioca is laying on a special breakfast. A break from cold porridge will be all the reward the girls need,' she added, grimacing as she remembered the year before when a protest over food resulted in the staff eating the disgusting stuff for an entire _week_. 'Which reminds me, who's on duty this morning?'

'I am,' Constance acknowledged, her eyes going over Amelia's shoulder to the clock behind her. 'I'm leaving shortly to ensure those girls come downstairs _properly_ , instead of like a herd of rampaging elephants.'

'"Dignity and deportment at all times",' Amelia heard Imogen mock and she sighed inwardly.

She would admit that the games mistress had _some_ right to her resentment and there was no denying Constance Hardbroom could be difficult—but Imogen's deliberate provocation of the deputy headmistress was unprofessional at best and childish at worst. Challenging her would only lead to a confrontation that could result in all sorts of skeletons being let out of their closets—and that was something the Headmistress preferred to avoid as long as she could.

She rose, dabbing her mouth with a napkin. 'I'll come with you, Constance. I'd like to give Mildred my congratulations in any case.'

'I'll be amazed if she's down on time,' Constance observed, leading the way into the corridor as the bell went. 'Punctuality is _not_ one of Mildred Hubble's virtues.'

Amelia smiled. 'Oh, I think we can cut her a little slack this afternoon, don't you.' She put her hand in the crook of the younger woman's arm, ignoring her recoil, and drew her into the Great Hall. They were assaulted by the noise of nearly a hundred excited girls all talking at once, their shrill voices punctuated by the rattle of plates and clacking of cutlery. Constance tensed beneath Amelia's fingers and the Headmistress pressed warningly; she had no desire to spoil the mood with one of her deputy's patented tirades.

Although not everyone seemed to share in the general celebrations, she noted. The first years looked ... glum. Surprisingly so.

'What's—' she started, just as Constance tutted.

'What did I tell you, Headmistress? They're all here—apart from Mildred, _naturally_.'

The back of Amelia's neck prickled. 'I'm not sure it's that simple.' She removed her hand from Constance's arm and approached the first years' table with a smile she did not feel.

'Good afternoon, girls! Enjoying your breakfast?' She nodded at the plates heaped with bacon, sausages, and soft rolls. Only a few of the girls returned her smile; Maud Moonshine did not even look up from chasing half a sausage around her plate.

'Miss Cackle asked you a question, girls,' Constance said warningly. 'It would be polite to answer it—and to eat your food properly instead of playing with it, Maud Moonshine!'

Amelia's eyes narrowed as she saw Maud flinch. The prickling had turned into certainty.

'Where's Mildred?' she asked as brightly as she could. 'If anyone deserves a special breakfast, she does!'

Amelia could've sworn she saw Maud exchange a look with Ethel Hallow before saying, reluctantly, 'We don't know, Miss Cackle.'

'Don't _know?_ ' Constance went rigid. 'What do you mean, don't know? I hope this isn't some ploy on Mildred's part to get a little extra time in bed, because I assure you, Maud Moonshine, it isn't—'

'It's my fault, Miss Hardbroom,' Ethel blurted and Amelia heard her deputy's surprised exhalation. 'I-I was jealous that Mildred got to fly and I ... we argued.' The girl tossed her blonde head. 'And of _course_ Mildred got huffy and ran away.'

'But—she came back with everyone else!' Amelia spluttered. Ethel stared fixedly at the table and the Headmistress shivered. ' _Didn't_ she?'

'We ... didn't take register before we left the grove, Headmistress,' Constance reminded her, her voice unnaturally pitched. ' _Or_ when we returned.'

Amelia winced, remembering how she'd ignored her deputy's suggestion that they do that very thing before sending the girls to bed. She embraced herself with the thick fabric of her teaching gown, her blood chilling as realisation dawned.

'Are you ... Girls, are you saying that Mildred Hubble has been out _all night?_ _Alone?_ '

'We didn't think she'd go far, Miss Cackle!' Maud burst. 'Millie's _scared_ of the dark. We thought she'd ... we thought she'd realise we were coming home and—and—' She covered her face with plump hands and burst into tears.

Amelia could feel fury (and perhaps fear) radiating off her deputy in waves.

'And _why_ , Maud Moonshine,' Constance hissed in her lowest, most dangerous tone, 'did you not tell me this last night?! If something has happened—' She broke off and left the room at a fast clip, leaving Amelia with the girls, as startled as they.

Ruby Cherrytree recovered first, her gaze hard as she turned it on Miss Cackle. 'Are you gonna look for her, miss?'

The Headmistress drew herself up to her full, if limited height, hurt by the girl's cynicism. 'Of course we're going to look for her.' She took a deep breath. 'We'll let you know what's happening,' and left the room as quickly as she could without breaking into a trot.

Once safely out of the Great Hall, she picked up the folds of her gown and frankly ran to the staffroom, her pulse hammering in her ears.

There was a time for dignity and deportment, and this was assuredly not it.

* * *

 **Purdy review box below? Please fill!**

 _Next Time: Will Mildred be rescued? Is this the point where Constance and her goddaughter can finally share a few truths? Or will it all go horribly wrong..._


End file.
